


Volatile

by Neapolitan



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Angst, Electrocution, GOD im sorry, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Panic Attacks, Scars, Self-Hatred, So much angst, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, im so sorry, probably should throw that in there, this hurts me as much as it hurts them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2018-11-07 06:07:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11052897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neapolitan/pseuds/Neapolitan
Summary: After the SQUIP Incident, Jeremy was forgiven. He should have been fine, his life had been balanced out. He had new friends, he regained his best friend, his dad was trying, he was doing well in school. Everything was okay. Everything was good.Jeremy didn't deserve it. Jeremy wished he was dead.(Alternately titledYou Don't Just Walk Away From Traumatic Experiences Like A Manipulative Supercomputer Controlling Your Body Without Severe Repercussions, Jeremiah)edit 9/10/18 literally several months later and im doing cosmetic edits dont mind me





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I love the idea of Jeremy having electrocution scars and repeating insults and being reluctant to take care of himself because of the squip and I also found it a bit odd that straight after an experience where a voice in his head LITERALLY TOOK CONTROL OVER HIS BODY AND TRIED TO ZOMBIFY THE WHOLE SCHOOL Jeremy just walks out of hospital all fine and dandy so here I am with a steaming heap of angst for everyone because I only know how to hurt
> 
> (this is my first fanfic on this site after many a year of lurking haha kill me tho)
> 
> This takes place about month after the events of the play. Also I adore Jeremy I really do but I gotta make him suffer okay I don't make the rules

It had begun with an insult.

It wasn't really an insult meant to hurt him. It was more like a fond little quip, a harmless joke to tease your friends with. It wasn't even anything major, nothing traumatising or hurtful. It was his fault, really.

The Squad (that's what Jake had started calling it. The name stuck) all sat together for lunch at the table nearest the door, laughing and joking with each other like old friends. Jenna had finished her latest gossip spiel (Alex's rumoured secret rendezvous with John while he's still dating Eliza, gasp), waving her hands dramatically as Chloe occasionally cut in to add in her two cents and Brooke giggled along. Rich was flicking the leftovers of his food absently at Jake as he listened, who lifted his lunch tray to shield himself from the onslaught. Christine, who wasn't really amused by mindless gossip, had busied herself with her book; a collection of Shakespeare's greatest classics (an early birthday gift from Jeremy). Michael had his headphones on, one ear free to keep track of the conversation while he listened to whatever musical artist he was obsessed with this week (the Gorillaz, a good choice). Jeremy sat to Rich's left and Michael's right, picking at his apple peel as he half listened to the conversation.

Rich's tray was already precariously close Jeremy's elbow, and it wasn't as if Jeremy wanted to jerk his arm a little too sharply and send the tray flying off the table and skittering across the floor. But it happened. The girls startled, eyes snapping towards the tray. Jake laughed at Rich's indignant yelp. Michael lowered the volume on his phone in curiosity. Jeremy's face went red.

Rich simply laughed it off, kicking at the tray a little before reaching over to retrieve it and take it over to the bins, but not before he ruffled Jeremy's sandy curls and remarked, "God, Jeremy, you're such a clumsy idiot."

All at once the bustle and noise of the lunchroom muted as if he were underwater. He could feel his face burning, his body freezing, his heart pounding in his ears. Everyone's eyes were on him but no one was even looking at him. Everyone had gone back to what they were doing and Jeremy suddenly felt like the worlds biggest inconvenience. He instinctively hunched over but straightened sharply when a warning tingle shot up his spine. He couldn't even shrink away and hide. All he could do was stare at his lap and mumble in a hollow voice he hoped no one would hear.

" _I'm such a clumsy idiot._ "

It started with one insult, but it continued with many more.

"You're so dumb, Jeremy."

" _I'm really dumb._ "

"Stop staring into space, Jer. You look like a creep."

" _I look like a creep._ "

"Shut up! You're the worst!"

" _I'm the worst._ "

Eventually, other people started to join in. Eventually, the comments he was getting weren't just banter with friends anymore but also scathing remarks by peers. Eventually, they began to hurt a lot worse.

"Look at that coward, hiding behind the popular kids."

" _Look at me, what a coward._ "

"Do you see the way he walks, all stiff? He's so weird."

" _I'm so weird._ "

"He's staring at nothing again. Jesus, he's such a freak."

" _Jesus, I'm such a freak._ "

_I'm such a freak. I'm such a freak. Freakfreakfreakfreakfreakfreakfreakfreakfreakfreakfreakfreakfreakfreakfreakfreakfreak_

That one hurt the worst (because it wasn't wrong). Michael and Christine had been with him when that particular one was said, at their lockers conversing about their respective weekends. The two were instantly upon the guy who had said it, beating him down verbally until he had put his hands up in surrender (rather sarcastically, mind you) and walked away.

Jeremy had smiled and said it was okay but his mind was travelling faster than the speed of sound and nothing made sense but everything made sense and he just really needed to go to the bathroom, guys. It's alright, I promise, I'm fine. And he walked off with a parting wave and a small smile and a promise to see them later and on the inside, he was crumbling. He managed to make it to the bathroom before his knees started to collapse and he was coughing against a sink because suddenly the bully's voice warped and shifted into something a lot more terrifying.

_Freak_

He slouched over the sink, the tingles up his spine sharpening to something akin to pain the longer he stayed that way and his spine snapped straight out of reflex. Absently, he reached around under his shirt and cardigan to run his fingers over the electrical burns he knew were there because he spent every morning staring at them in abject disgust.

They weren't subtle in any way. They began as a knot at this base of his spine, jagged marks trailing up and branching across his lower back. Coloured a raised raw pink where they had been irritated by the fabric of his shirt or when he lies in bed wide awake, unable to sleep because his mind is still reeling from the aftermath of the SQUIP (always capitalised in his head). The bolts travelled up his spine and feathered over his shoulder blades before coming to a merciful stop at the base of his neck, below the collar of his shirt. Invisible, unseen, hidden. To everyone except for him.

Jeremy was sick and tired of having to live with them, to look at them every day, to feel phantom shocks that symbolised the SQUIP's disapproval, but he deserved a lot worse. He'd almost caused a real-life zombie apocalypse (or a SQUIP apocalypse if he wanted to get technical. A SQUIPocalyse. He shouldn't joke about it). That in and of itself should get him mad demerit points in the humanity handbook. The scars were a slap on the wrist and a stern letter home in comparison to what he almost did. To what he actually did. Honestly, he was kind of surprised people still talk to him these days, let alone The Squad.

It wasn't long after the SQUIP incident (the SQUIncident. Seriously, he needed to stop joking about it. Rich's attitude towards the whole thing was rubbing off in him) that Jeremy suddenly found himself with a group of friends that occasionally doubled as a therapy circle because kids who experience a traumatic group event together apparently also party together. Jeremy was near awed by how fast they were willing to forgive him.

Suddenly the popular kids were hanging out with him, stopped making fun of him, tried helping him. Suddenly Christine wanted to go out with him (for a few weeks before they realised they had nothing in common. They stayed friends. It was still great) And Michael…

Michael Mell was an absolute saint, Jeremy had concluded after the first post-SQUIP week. Jeremy had turned up at his door looking like he hadn't slept in a few days if the bags under his eyes were any indication. The tremor in his hands hidden deep in the pockets of his favourite blue cardigan as he clumsily apologised over and over and over again until Michael silently took him in his arms, rocking him back and forth and whispering that it was okay, he had forgiven him immediately, just don't let it happen again.

Jeremy hadn't cried but he came really close when he felt Michaels own tears drip into his hair.

After a while of hugging and reassurances, Michael invited Jeremy inside for video games and they sort of… picked up where they left off. Like the last few weeks hadn't happened. Jeremy couldn't wrap his head around it. He'd almost subjected his entire school (and quite possibly the world) to a hive mind of nanotech headcrabs. He deserved to be alone for the rest of his natural lifespan.

_God, you're so pathetic_

Jeremy chewed on his lip, wincing as the tingling pain intensified at the action. He stopped immediately. He's always had intrusive thoughts from time to time, what with anxiety and all. But the thing that made these particular times so overwhelmingly special was that in the back of his mind Jeremy couldn't help but think that, if he listened close enough, these thoughts sounded alarmingly like Keanu Reeves. Which was stupid because he had shut down the SQUIP (or rather, Michael shut down the SQUIP with his miracle timing and love of 90's soda) so maybe he's just paranoid.

(But then again, if Japan had managed to make a quantum nanotech CPU in an ingestible pill that had near complete sentience, could act autonomously, and had unlimited access to a wide range of information in less than seconds, then surely they could have programmed in an alternate failsafe that allowed the system to back itself up even whilst inside of a host, right?)

Yep. Totally paranoid.

_Freak_

Jeremy shook away the thoughts. It didn't matter in the long run anyway. It didn't matter that he had intrusive thoughts that sounded like Keanu Reeves. It didn't matter that his scars ached whenever he slouched or that he even had scars to begin with. It didn't matter that his mind was constantly reeling, jumping from thought to thought with no solid pattern, overanalysing everything he comes across as if he were going to be attacked anytime soon. It was the bare minimum to what he deserved.

Jeremy turned to the mirror, locking eyes with his reflection and automatically relaxing as he took a deep breath in and out. The knot of scar tissue at the base of his spine tingled in warning. He straightened up. The tingles stopped. "Now," he muttered, the memory of Keanu Reeves' voice echoing through his skull. "Repeat after me."


	2. Verse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> November rolls into December and winter break begins. Michael and Jeremy are steadily repairing their relationship that'd been heavily strained by the Incident. However, Michael starts noticing a few things about Jeremy and can't help but think that something is very, very wrong.
> 
> (Or _Michael Mell Is A Goddamn Angel But He Has No Idea How To Confront Any Issues Presented To Him, Especially When They Involve One Jeremiah Heere_ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow okay so first up THANK YOU SO MUCH I didn't think this would get so much positive feedback your comments made my whole year!!!! :):):):) also props to those that caught my sneaky Hamilton reference in the last one
> 
> (also don't tell anyone but I got super confused about what month this is all set in and I realised that if I wanted this to work the way I want it to work the whole thing had to be set during November/December so sorry for that bit of confusion there time isn't real anyway)
> 
> im actually kinda excited for this chapter because I'm trying something a bit new with the writing style (sorry if it's a bit clunky tho I wrote half of it on the train to and from school) I'll ramble on about the differences in the end notes so you won't have to scroll for so long to get to the real action. also be warned this ones probably gonna hurt again (I'm sorry) but it's gonna be a happy ending I promise. I plan on having a couple more chapters of this and everyone will be fine by the end. have fun I love you bye

Michael often thought of himself as relatively observant. Years of being a social wallflower taught him how to pinpoint minor details about other people, allowing him to craft quick, bastardised versions of his peers in order to pick apart the decent kids from the assholes that roam the school hallways. It was skills like those that kept him safe in the cesspools of Middle Borough High, allowed him to fly low enough on the radar that he was never picked up on by enemy ships or readily avoid confrontation 86% of the time – his algorithm wasn't foolproof, he's not that good at math. And it was skills like those that gave him a heads up on Jeremy's mental state a month after the Squip debacle.

The first actual warning flags fired up mere weeks after the whole ordeal. He had gone over to Jeremy's for a few catch-up rounds of Apocalypse of the Damned. Jeremy had greeted him at the door with a tentative smile and Michael responded with his usual cheeriness that seemed to make Jeremy relax a little.

Michael wasn't going to lie, he was excruciatingly reluctant about this. All the boundaries that the two of them had broken through in their years of solid friendship had seemingly been rebuilt overnight and there was a kind of tenseness that lingered in the air between them now. It made Michael feel a little sick to the stomach, second-guessing if either of them were in any way ready for the rapid-fire rebuilding of their trust and friendship just yet.

But the memory of a distressed Jeremy at his doorstep resurfaces, looking like he hadn't slept in days, his whole frame quaking with what was obviously suppressed sobs, tripping over his tongue as he repeated apologies over and over again in a broken, wobbly voice – _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm such an idiot, I don't deserve you, you're so good, I'm so sorry, please, I'm so sorry_ – and Michael is weak again.

If Michael were to list the things he wouldn't do for Jeremy, the list would end at literally nothing – okay maybe he wouldn't give away his limited edition Star Wars pins for him. Or probably kill a man for him, murder without reason might be a little off the book here. But he'd definitely die for him, which would be a scary thought if it were for anyone else.

Maybe it was because he's been best friends with Jeremy for 12 years. Most likely because he's been in love with Jeremy for 7 of those years.

Jeremy's room was still familiar: bed, desk, closet, TV, games, beanbags. Only the desk was neater, the bed was made, the floor was clean. It was familiar but sort of in the way that watching the same episode of The Twilight Zone back to back was familiar, you know what to expect but there are still a few key details that make you a little uncomfortable anyway. Nevertheless, Michael made himself at home, plopping onto his usual seat on the bean bag closest to the closet, to Jeremy's immediate left. He grabs the controller and turns to ask if Jeremy wanted to dive straight into AotD or not, only to address empty air.

Jeremy was still standing by the door, wringing his hands as he stared at the TV, expression a careful blank. Michael felt something in the air shift dangerously. "Uh, aren't you gonna sit down?"

He seemed to jolt to life at those words, settling into his seat carefully with oddly stiff, seemingly practised movements. Like he needed to do such a menial task in such a specific way. Like he'd get punished or something if he got it wrong. He heard the smaller mumble a kind of sheepish " _sorry_ " and Michael brushed it off, ignoring the uncomfortable churning in his stomach warning him that something was wrong. It was probably a one-time thing anyway.

But Jeremy continued to wait or ask for permission to do mundane everyday things, sit down, start eating, go to the bathroom. Or he'd snap to follow any direction given to him no matter who gave them. This spanned from switching seats with Chloe so that she could talk to Brooke, to freezing in his tracks when told to wait or, more worryingly, when Jake asked him to move out of his way so he could reach a book in the library and Jeremy avoided him for a full 2 weeks before Jake confronted him. Michael feared for the day that someone would tell Jeremy to do something they couldn't take back.

So Michael became a helicopter-parent, attached at the hip at all times trying to keep Jeremy from doing something stupid because some asshole told him to. It might have been a bit babying but Michael honestly didn't know what else to do or how else he could help him. And it wasn't it like Michael could just walk up to Jeremy and ask him about the Squip and whether or not his behaviour stemmed from it. It would hurt him and Michael downright _**refused**_ to do anything of the sort. He just needed more time. It worked out okay in the end, anyway. Jeremy seemed to enjoy the albeit excessive company of his best friend and Michael could sleep at night knowing that the love of his life was safe.

It didn't matter what he had to do, he would keep Jeremy safe.

The next red alert chimed at the full month mark. The uncomfortable air around them slowly dissipated but there was a lingering tenseness that Michael couldn't place. Nothing bad or wrong per sey just… different. Alien. Things were better between them. They began to orbit in and out of each other's spaces nearly as easily as they used to. Michael began sharing his slushees with him again and Jeremy tentatively leaned against Michael whenever they sat together. It was fine, it was good. Then Michael noticed something else that sent a chill up his spine.

For as long as he could remember Jeremy always walked with the gait of someone who was uncomfortable in his own skin: head ducked, shoulders hunched, back curved forward as if to hide from onlookers. Small steps and dragged feet, almost a shuffle, as he navigated the world on shaky ankles. That was normal, that was Jeremy, and for the most part, everything was the same. Except for the fact that Jeremy's posture was eerily perfect.

Michael stared very subtly at Jeremy - trust him, he got a lot of practice - as he talked to Christine about their upcoming senior year. He was leaning casually against the wall where he would usually be hunched up against them, hands by his sides where they should either be gesturing frantically or buried in his pockets with no in-between. His back was straight, his head held high, and Michael was scared for a moment that this was Squip Jeremy and the past month had just been some sort of wishful thinking fever dream. But then Jeremy makes a weird noise in response to something Christine said followed by his little hiccuping giggle that never failed to make Michael's heart flutter and he relaxed because yep, that's his Jeremy alright.

But there was something weird about this new posture of his; disregarding how weird it already was. Jeremy walked with confidence – not quite the swagger he had whilst Squiped – but the air of discomfort was still present, increased even. He looked like he wanted to do nothing more than scuttle away and hide forever, fidgeting with his fingers and tapping his feet and darting his gaze around as if looking for an exit. But it wasn't quite the juxtaposition between Jeremy's stance and demeanour that made Michael nervous, more so the way Jeremy behaves when he allows himself to relax.

It was late afternoon merely a week after. The Squad were returning from their usual stop by 7-11 for snacks and ice cream before their monthly movie night, most of them piled into Jake's much roomier four-wheel drive leaving Jeremy and Christine in Michael's PT Cruiser. Jeremy and Christine were neck deep in a conversation about their group English assignment, Michael interjecting with his own thoughts from time to time and stealing glances at Jeremy as he drove – his eyes were so bright and they did that thing where they crinkled up at the edges when he smiled and _holy fuck_ Michael was in so deep he couldn't even see the surface.

Jeremy leaned over the console to change the song and Michael batted his hands away playfully, watching out of the corner of his eye as Jeremy retreated back into the passenger seat and giggled, hunching over to muffle the sound in the palms of his hands.

And then his entire body flew back with such a force you'd think he'd been launched, his back slamming against the seat so violently Christine gave a startled yelp from the back seat. Jeremy had tensed, sitting ramrod straight, breathing heavy, eyes wide and glassy as he stared at nothing. Michael felt the air in the car shift dangerously – just like back in Jeremy's room when he had to be told to sit down – and Michael immediately pulled over, yanking the hand brake so hard he thinks he might have cracked the plastic.

"Jeremy?"

There was no response to his name or even an indication that Jeremy had heard him. Michael exchanged a worried glance with Christine and leant back as she reached around the seat. "Jerry, sweetie," she cooed worriedly, using her pet name for him as her fingertips hesitantly brushed over Jeremy's shoulder.

He jerked away sharply, pressing himself to the door with a frantic, desperate plea of, " _Don't!_ " Christine retracted her hand as if she had been burnt and Jeremy's expression changed from panic to strained apologetic. "I– Wait, wait, no. I-I'm sorry, Chrissie, really sorry. It's just a– just a bad day. I'm fine, I promise. Just… don't touch me." Michael made a noise in the back of his throat and he must have looked sceptical because Jeremy was turning his gaze towards him and– " _Please?_ "

Michael took in a steady breath to calm his heart. How the fuck was he supposed to say no to that? "Okay," he whispered. Christine nodded along and leaned back in her seat, eyes on Jeremy as he turned to settle in his own seat, still tense. "Okay," Michael repeated, more for his own sake. "Do you want some water?"

Jeremy hesitated but nodded and Michael fished out a small bottle of water from their 7-11 bag of goodies, holding it out by the top so that Jeremy could take it without having to touch him. Jeremy shot him a small, grateful smile and Michael took another calming breath.

The night went on as normal and if Michael hovered just a little bit closer to Jeremy no one said anything.

Michael couldn't help but shake the feeling that something was seriously wrong but he had no idea how to approach Jeremy about it. He'd be the first to admit that he was avoiding confronting Jeremy full stop but no matter how guilty he felt about it he couldn't bring himself to do it. Michael wasn't a fan of confrontation for any reason – those kinds of conversations always brought with it a constricting weight in his chest and a sharp, dry panic clawing at his throat. And for something like this, the thought of having to walk up to Jeremy – sensitive, skittish Jeremy – and ask him the equivalent of _what's wrong with you?_ left a bitter taste in his mouth.

So Michael did what he did best; laughed loudly, grinned unabashedly, cracked jokes. He acted as an unshakable, unbiased support railing for any of his friends to lean against and hoped and prayed to whatever god would listen that it'd be enough. That _he'd_ be enough. He wasn't very good at it but every time Rich cackled at one of his jokes, or Chloe grinned at his bad movie choice, or Brooke groaned and rolled her eyes at his pun, he felt accomplished. And Jeremy still kept his back straight, still snapped to follow every instruction, still mumbled under his breath a chant no one could make out. But the times of blinding panic were few and far in between and Michael felt a little better knowing that Jeremy would be okay.

Of course, the peace could only last for so long before it all came crashing down.

It was a cold mid-December night when Michael had invited Jeremy down into his basement – for what other reason than to get stoned and watch good bad movies on his flat screen. They lay sprawled together on a pile of beanbags and blankets, bags of chips and bottles of soda littering the ground as they passed the joint between them, piping up occasionally to comment or laugh about the movie they had picked.

Despite popular belief, they didn't do this very often. Weed was exclusive for celebrations or major life events and since they were both advancing into senior year with a new batch of friends and a fresh bout of confidence, it was more than a good time to celebrate.

Michael took a long hit and tilted his head back, letting the smoke curl slowly out of his mouth and fill the air. He heard Jeremy chuckle beside him and glanced over to see the smaller boy completely enraptured by the cinematic brilliance of Kung Fury. He let his eyes wander over the length of his neck, flushed cheeks, crooked smile, long lashes, bright eyes, soft curls.

_Fuck._

In the shifting light of the television Jeremy was ethereal and Michael forced himself not to blush as he tore his eyes away, turning back towards the movie. He could wax poetic about the divinity that was Jeremiah Heere for _years_ – and he has. Even more so when he was floating on a high and everything seemed just a tad softer around the edges, giving the already beautiful boy a hazy glow.

Jeremy laughed again, light and airy and full of sunlight. Michael took another long pull.

"Michael."

"Yeah?"

"Nothing." Jeremy shifted so that he was facing him, lying in his side and tilting his head up to him lazily. "I just wanted to say your name. You have a nice name, Michael."

Michael snorted. Jeremy's cheeks seem to flush brighter. "That's pretty gay."

"You're pretty gay."

Michael paused, lifting his left arm up to stare incredulously at the pride patch that adorned his sleeve. "Shit, you right."

A second of silence passed over them before they burst into laughter, falling against their beanbag/blanket nest as they dissolved into hysterics at the lame joke. By the time Michael had calmed down enough from the impromptu giggle-fest, he noticed Jeremy's silence and glanced up to see him staring. He couldn't stop the blush this time. "What?"

Jeremy hummed and flopped down against the blankets, head half-resting on Michael's knee. "You know you're my favourite person, right?"

Michael was going to have a heart attack. "Well, duh. You've told me before how I'm your _favowite pewson_."

"No, _Michael_ ," Jeremy whined, rolling over to fully face him. "You're my _favourite person_." He emphasises it as if it'd make more sense - as if Michael would somehow piece together some sort of secret about those words. It was adorable in a confusing kind of way. Jeremy sighed. "I appreciate you, Michael. A lot. You make me feel safe and happy. You are my absolute favourite person."

Michael swallowed hard. _This boy._ "You too, buddy. You're my favourite person too."

Jeremy mumbled a satisfied _good_ before turning back to the movie, head still on Michaels' knee. The hand that was resting in his lap reached over to stroke through Jeremy's hair absently. He couldn't help it. He blamed the weed.

And if Jeremy sighed and relaxed at the action, leaning towards his fingers and pushing his head further onto Michael's lap, then it was probably a coincidence. Again, he'll blame the weed.

They stayed like that, quietly watching the movie and enjoying each other's company, until Jeremy began to yawn and Michael shut off the TV, ushering the smaller boy to sleep. Jeremy stuck out his tongue but complied, shifting away from him and settling against the blankets. Michael brushed off the sudden cold that sunk into him when Jeremy moved away and busied himself rearranging the beanbags into something more comfortable, kicking away empty packets and bottles as he dragged a few pillows over and settled down next to an already passed out Jeremy.

He sighed and brushed a few loose curls away from the boy's face. 7 years of his life he'd loved this boy, ever since Michael scraped his hands badly falling off a swing and Jeremy raced over with a box of Pac Man bandaids, pressing a messy kiss to his palms with the promise that he'd make them feel better. Michael could only stare as Jeremy kissed his bandaid-riddled hands again and rubbed the tears from his cheeks and asked if he wanted to go to his house and steal some of the ice cream he knew his mom had hidden in the fridge and _wow when did Michaels best friend become so incredibly cute?_

Michael loved Jeremy – deeply, irreversibly, unconditionally – but being his best friend was more than enough for him. He had hopes, sure, but if he ended up being his Player 2 forever then he'd be with him the whole way through.

Jeremy sniffles in his sleep, snuggling against the beanbag and turning to his side so that his back faced Michael. Michael couldn't help but smile. His smoke-addled brain picked out something endearingly cute about the way he slept – which was everything, let's be real here – as he settled down next to him with the intent of following him to sleep. He drifted off pleasantly, letting his breathing slow and his eyes wander longingly across the expanse of the other boys back as he stretched across the beanbag, his shirt riding up and exposing the skin of his lower—

Michael woke right the fuck up, ripped from his peace and sobering so fast that it made his eyes water. A mixture of shock and nausea washed over him, a solid weight that sunk into his gut like a cinderblock breaching the surface of a pond. There was no way. No possible way. Not with him, anyone but him, _please god._

But even in the dim light of the Mario Block lamp Michael could clearly make out Jeremy's lower back; which meant that the spiderweb of irritated pink lines that littered _every single inch_ of visible skin now took up all of Michaels horrified attention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Kung Fury is a fucking masterpiece and you should all watch it seriously look it up it's such a Michael movie)
> 
> okay but seriously I'm sorry again if it hurts but stay strong everyone's gonna be okay I promise I love these kids too much to leave them like this. feel free to yell at me in the comments tho. it motivates me to write
> 
> Now for those who're interested, I tried a little shift in writing style in this chapter just to get the feel that this was in another persons perspective, mostly stemming from my own headcanons for the lovely Michael Mell. First off, Michael's pretty smart. Jeremy's smart too, don't get me wrong, but where Jeremy's is book smart Michael's more word and street smart. His social anxiety made him overtly cautious of other people and because of that he developed a keen sense of observation. Additionally, his words and thoughts are a little more structured and sound as opposed to Jeremy's frantic, bouncing thoughts; which is shown with the more subtle dashes as opposed to the obvious parenthesis. Also, notice how Michael doesn't capitalise "squip" like Jeremy does. This is because while in Jeremy's mind the word is associated with fear and panic, in Michael's it's more associated with disgust and disinterest. Squip is just another word that Michael doesn't agree with, like moist or oozing.
> 
> Also I did my fair share of projecting on this, let me tell you. Fun fact: Jeremy's paranoia and belief that he deserves punishment and isolation is based on my own experiences with panic attacks and Michael's fear of confrontation and sense of responsibility about the wellbeing of others is basically me normally


	3. Bridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael was definitely avoiding him, constantly walking on eggshells around him, and it had to be something that he did. It had to be. And with New Years Eve rolling around and the Squad decides to celebrate the coming of the new year, Jeremy clings to his crumbling sanity and finds it hard to look forward to a future he doesn't have.
> 
> (Or _A New Years Eve Party's A Bad Excuse To Put Your Psyche Through Mad Abuse_ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one was a bit of a battle for me, guys. putting myself back into Jeremy's mindset takes a hell of a lot out of me so the writing may not be the best in this. I sort of use a bastardised version of the method acting technique for writing (write what you know, right?) and walking around in Jeremy's shoes, especially while he's being torn apart from the inside out, is legit heartbreaking. that and it's like violently winter here in australia and I've been sick af for a few solid weeks. I hope this turned out okay tho :) 
> 
> I treasure all your comments, I re-read them all in between writing breaks. You're all v v sweet <3
> 
> WARNING THO there is some detailing on panic attacks both the build up and the explosion. Jeremy does indeed break down in this chapter. I want everyone to be safe so pls don't read it if you're not in the best mindset

It was as if they were back at square one again. As if he had hit end instead of continue and erased weeks of progress, throwing them back to the menu screen. There was something awkward in the air now, a grey cloud that hung in the empty spaces that would usually be filled up by the two of them. Jeremy didn't know what as wrong but he did know that it was probably his fault.

Jeremy narrowed his eyes at his reflection, automatically taking stock of all his flaws and imperfections and listing them out in alphabetical order (bad complexion, dark eye bags, dull eyes, greasy curls, weird nose). He glanced down at his lanky body, all noodle-y arms and twig legs jutting out at awkward angles with stretches of fragile pale skin that bruised easier than a week old peach. He sighed. Everything about him was just so wrong. Or weird, or gross, or annoying.

_Terrible_

He shook his head. Not right now. He needed to focus. Michael was upset and it obviously had something to do with a part of him that was aforementioned weird, gross, or annoying ( _or terrible_. Stop that) He needed to fix it.

He ran his fingers over his skin, rubbing harshly at the light dotting of freckles that brushed the tops of his cheeks, near his eyes. He pulled at a particularly prominent curl, trying to pull it straight only for it to spring back up like the tail of a pig. His nose scrunched up in disgust only for him to catch sight of how unattractive the habit was in the mirror and immediately stop. He scowled instead. Better, if only by a little bit.

Was it his face? His body? Jeremy shook his head. Michael never cared about looks or body image, he himself being a shining example of positivity. But Michael was already so perfect; nice skin, good height, warm arms, soft stomach. He had this cute (cute? He filed that thought away for later) baby pudge that filled out his entire body from his cheeks to his thighs and he walked around like he didn't care.

And Jeremy? Jeremy was so far from perfect his mind struggled to remember what that word meant in correlation to him.

It had to be something he did. Something about his (horrible, selfish) personality. What else could it be? Michael hadn't looked him in the eye in weeks, not since the sleepover, shifting his gaze around his face whenever he talked to him. He looked nervous, fidgeting with the edges of his sleeves, running his hand through his hair, chewing on the corner of his lip. Sometimes things would go back to normal and Michael would relax, but then he'd touch his shoulder or brush his fingers over his back and suddenly Michael would recoil as if he'd been slapped, shifting away and closing off. He looked unsure, he looked _scared_. Jeremy felt horrible.

Michael was so clearly upset with him and Jeremy was a fucking idiot. He was a goddamn fucking clueless idiot who managed to fuck up every aspect of his life and _not even have the decency to realise what he did wrong because he was just so fucking useless all the time and_

Stop.

Jeremy shook his head as if it'd dispel his thoughts. Now wasn't the time or the place. He needed to calm the fuck down. He needed to focus. He needed to breathe.

In for 4, hold for 6, out for 8.

In for 4, hold for… for 6, out for 8.

In for… in for… 5? 7? Fuck.

Jeremy squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled sharply, losing his pattern. God, what was wrong with him? He shouldn't be upset, he did this to himself. He obviously did something that made him uncomfortable. Michael was too good for a waste of space like him. Funny, considerate, smart, strong, Michael. Who wore hoodies in the summer and drank slushees during fall, who laughed with his whole body and smiled with the light of the sun, who had more kindness in his pinky finger than the whole world combined. One touch from him soothed Jeremy's burning skin and calmed his frazzled thoughts. Michael was his best friend, his favourite person. His peace, his calm, his safety.

And Jeremy went and fucking ruined it.

 _Twice_.

A strangled scream bubbled up in his throat but he swallowed it down, pushing it all aside and tucking it into the corner in his mind already filled with the clutter of his crumbling psyche. He didn't have time to worry, he didn't have time to panic. He had to calm down. He had to piece his mask of okay back together, a paper mâché of empty words and strings of insults that felt more like truths that he'd repeat to his reflection again and again and again and _again and again and again and **again**_. Until he was ready to face a world that he didn't deserve to be in, meet with friends he didn't deserve to have.

Jeremy sighed and took one last look at his (disgusting, hideous, _no wonder Michael hates you_ ) reflection and stepped back into his room to get ready.

The night hadn't even begun and Jeremy was already so tired.

The party had been ultimately Jenna's idea, only less of a party and more of a get together between the 8 of them where they'll probably just drink and stay up to watch the ball drop on TV. A lot like their monthly movie nights only with alcohol. It wasn't a bad idea and Jenna did make a good point. Tonight signified the end of a year and the beginning of a new. Brooke called it a clean slate, a chance to begin the year again as friends. Jake called it a chance to begin anew as their own people and not the product of what others want them to be. Chloe called it a chance to stay up all night and get stupid drunk. All seemed like excellent calls for celebration.

And for the most part, Jeremy was fine. He _really was_. He just didn't feel like he had the right to be celebrating, he didn't have the right to celebrate a new year with new friends. The thought of having to sit and fake a smile tonight made his stomach turn but Jenna worked hard to organise it, even offering to host it at her own place. Jeremy didn't have the heart to tell her that he wasn't feeling it.

So there he was, picking out a shirt in the middle of his room, stomach bunched in knots as he waited for Jake to pick him up (Michael had volunteered to help set up as soon as they discussed who would pick up who, only cementing Jeremy's suspicions that Michael was avoiding him). He sifted through the piles of shirts, trying to ignore the voice in the back of his head that harshly critiqued everything his fingers came in contact with until he pulled out a balled up white shirt and suddenly the room seemed so much smaller, the walls seeming to shrink in (the Eminem logo shot sparks through the nerves of his fingers and it was suddenly too hot and too crowded but he was alone _he was alone_ )

Stop.

Breathe.

4, 6, 8.

4, 6, 8.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Jeremy threw the shirt so hard the thump it made hitting the back wall of his closet rang through the silent room like a gunshot. What was fucking wrong with him tonight? He'd been fine all day. No weird outbursts, no jittery feeling, no rising panic. Just him being the usual empty husk of his former self as he tries to get through the day without breaking down, as it should be. That was fine, that was normal. What the fuck was this?

(In retrospect, it might just be the stress of knowing he'd have to go through the motions of lying to the collective faces of everyone he loved for several hours at a time with minimal crying breaks due to lack of optimal locations fit for said crying but even though denial wasn't just a river in Egypt Jeremy still fancied himself a swim every now and then)

It felt like he was in a house that's on fire (bad analogy, bad analogy, _who the fuck does he think he is_ ). Normal people would have exits that make sense, they run to a door or a window and sure the way may be blocked but they do everything they can to get past it and survive.

But Jeremy was not normal. His exit's on the ceiling.

He'd jump up trying to grab onto a ledge and pull himself up but it's too high for him to reach. He'd scramble around the burning room trying to find things he could use to climb up but everything's soaked in gasoline. He'd scream and yell until his voice gave out but everyone's already safe and sound far away from burning houses to bother with him.

So Jeremy would sit and wait patiently for the flames to melt his skin because this was his life now. It wasn't that he wanted it. He knew it was bad, he knew he was sick ( _God_ did he know he was sick, just another thing to add to his _shining_ list of qualities that make him so _obviously_ worth the air he breathes), but he deserved this. Every second of it.

Jeremy took a deep breath, picking at the shirt he already wore (suddenly he doesn't feel the need to change anymore). He was a mess. He needed to keep it together for just a little bit longer. He could cry and panic for as long as he wants when the party was over. He just needed to get through the night. He could do this, easy, no problem.

He's a terrible liar when he's stressed.

The car ride over was a blur of passing lights and idle conversation. He practically blinked and suddenly he went from giving himself a pep talk in his room like a loser to standing awkwardly inside a close friends house like a loser. Jenna's house was nice. Moderately large two-story place, pictures lining the walls, house plants dotting the corners, bedrooms with balconies. Jeremy found himself focusing on a red succulent on a glass coffee table when Jenna lead them upstairs to the main room they'd all be staying in. Everyone's eyes were on him and they smiled in welcome, filling Jeremy's chest with a kind of warmth he couldn't explain.

His eyes found Michael, sitting on the floor with his back to the lounge, hands full with a sleek black controller as he navigated through the game in the screen (Doom. Jeremy gave a mental thumbs up in appreciation). Michael shot him a warm smile that didn't quite meet his eyes and patted the carpet beside him invitingly. Jeremy practically tripped over his own feet to sit down.

"Hey, buddy. Sorry I couldn't come pick you up. You get here okay?"

"No, yeah, I'm okay. It's all good, dude."

"Cool, cool. Wanna have a go? Rich's fucking terrible at this game."

Michael leaned away from Rich's grasp as he leaned over the swipe at him for the remark, laughing at the shorter boys sputtering insults. Jeremy cracked a hesitant smile and let the gorey world of Doom take his mind off the fact that Michael had barely looked at him for that entire exchange.

The night seemed to swim in Jeremy's mind, blurring together as the alcohol was brought out and distributed in those red solo cups every teen party in America seemed to inexplicably have. Jenna had an almost unhealthy amount of flavoured liquors in her house and Chloe had an unsurprising amount of drink mixing knowledge which set the bar for the night pretty high on the drunk scale.

They talked and laughed and joked and teased, switching from video games to movies when Brooke (surprisingly) got angry during a round of Mario Party and threatened to drown Jake in his rum and coke. They took turns trying to guess the plot twist to Split (they ended up thinking of a multitude of infinitely better plot twists to use in said movie because come on, Shaymalan, really?) which turned into a suggestion pile for their next school theatrical production (Christine _fought_ for Groundhog Day). They watched the ball drop, counting the seconds loudly and drunkenly and yelling in celebration as midnight hit. Everything was fine, the party was great, things were going well.

Michael still hadn't looked at him.

Jeremy downed the drink in his hand, letting the alcohol burn his throat and fizzle his thoughts. He was getting desperate. The pressure built in his chest, weighing against his stomach and slowing him down. His breaths were quick and shallow and holy hell he was going to die here he needed to get out he needed some air he needed to—

Shut up. He needed to _shut up_. Everything was fine.

Except nothing was fine. Michael had this look whenever Jeremy was in his field of vision, worried, unsure, hesitant. He was walking on eggshells around him - as if any second Jeremy would explode (which, to be honest, wasn't far from the truth right now). There was just something so inherently wrong about Michael looking upset in any way, shape, or form. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to fix it. He was so useless.

_Maybe if he wasn't such a freak_

Jeremy held his breath and poured another drink. Straight tequila, down it in one, rinse and repeat. He wasn't a big drinker but at this point, he'd do anything to shut himself up. He just needed to stop thinking. If not for forever then at least for tonight. He wished he could stop thinking forever, then maybe things would be okay.

Things would be better if he had never been born. The whole SQUIP Incident would have never had happened, Rich wouldn't have burnt Jake's house down, Christine would be able to stand on stage without feeling sick, Jake wouldn't have to use a cane to walk sometimes, Brooke would be able to trust people again. All of it, everything.

If he hadn't been born he wouldn't have met Michael in kindergarten and spent 12 years together promising to always be there for each other only to drop him like dead weight at the mere chance of being cool, completely ignore him for months, call him a loser and leave him to rot, and then have the audacity to beg for him back only to destroy him a second time because he was so selfish and lonely and

 _Terrible_.

Everything about him was so terrible.

_Everything about him makes him want to…_

Straight tequila, down it in one, rinse and repeat. Even if it made him sick, even if it put him in hospital. Just shut him up.

He knew deep down that it didn't really help but it was all he fucking had. The alcohol was making it harder to focus on breathing (because apparently, he was so fucking unless he had to think about breathing now). Everything in his vision seemed to swim, the colours curling along the edges and making the fuzziness in his head a lot more prominent than usual. He could practically feel all his control draining away. He needed to calm down. He needed to—

"—dn't know if you'd be okay with coming after what happened at Halloween."

Michael spluttered, waving Jenna away clumsily, but his gaze flickered from Jenna to Jeremy guiltily and suddenly that half-heard sentence was all Jeremy could think about.

"What-what happened on Halloween?"

Michael avoided his eyes, fidgeted with the zipper of his jacket. "A lot of things happened on Halloween; the party, the fire, Jake broke his legs, I think Veronica from calculus hooked up with Heather or something," he rambled, inching away from Jenna and looking at everything but Jeremy. Jeremy's chest burned from something that was decidedly not alcohol.

"Nonono, she's pro'ly talkin bout that thing you told us," slurred Chloe, a cup of Midori and lemonade gripped dangerously in her manicured hand. "After Jer'my was a lil bitch to you in the bathroom."

Jeremy trembled. "What?"

"Nothing. It was nothing."

"Did- did something happen?"

"No, no, Jeremy, it's nothing."

"You mean you haven't told him?" Christine chimed in, the soberest out of everyone there. "Michael, we talked about this–"

"It was never a good time," Michael pressed, nervous. "I couldn't spring something like that on him. Not when he's like this– no wait—"

Jeremy jolted. No. "Like what?"

"Wait, _wait_ , I didn't mean it like that."

"Like _what_?" No no no no

"Jeremy, hon, you're shaking. Are you alright?" Brooke. Sweet Brooke. She didn't deserve what he did to her. None of these people deserved what he did to them.

Everyone was talking at once. Nothing was making sense. Everything was too loud but he couldn't hear, too hot but he was shivering. His skin buzzed and his head spun and he could feel the walls closing in, choking the air from the room. Everyone was _looking at him_. He wanted them to stop. He couldn't think he couldn't stop _he just wanted to stop_

"But- I-I— is that why have you been avoiding me?"

Michael turned to him, looked at him for the first time tonight, and Jeremy felt disgusted by how much he calmed down at the sight of those eyes. He didn't deserve him. "What? No, no, Jer. I'm– I'm not avoiding you, I just—"

Jeremy broke. "Yes, you are!" he near screeched, blinking back tears. "You are! What did I do? Please–"

"You didn't do anything! It's all me, I swear!"

"Please," Jeremy begged. He was desperate. "What did I do? Let me fix it. I need to fix me. I need to be better so I can deserve you."

"Jeremy, what are you talking about?"

" _I was never good enough!_ Never! Not good enough for my mom, not good enough for you–" (shut up shut up _shut up_ )

"Jeremy—!"

"The SQUIP was supposed to make me better but it made me worse! It just made me so much more aware of how much of a failure I am, how little I really mattered! Everything about me is terrible, everything!" His heart was beating too loudly in his ear and he shut his eyes tight so he wouldn't have to look at anyone, see the realisation dawning on everyone's faces. "You think I'd get a clue, right? After mom left. She left because of me, y'know. But no. _No_. I had to go and fuck everything up over and over again because I'm such a fuck up. Such a failure."

"Jeremy, _Jeremy_ , look at me? Look at me, please?"

Jeremy shook his head, backing away (stupid stupid _stupid_ ). "I just… I can't do it anymore." He dropped his empty cup, curling his arms around himself, spine curved and head ducked as he shrunk away. Then he hissed in pain as his back generated a giant shock, his back straightening so fast it looked like it was snapped into place by an invisible hand. His hands shook so violently that the tremors travelled up his arms and he balled his hands into fists and shoved them in his pockets only to jerk them back out again when his nerves burned him.

"I'm such a mess. I can never think clearly, everything just so fuzzy all the time. Sometimes I get thoughts, just passing thoughts that sound so much like–" He cut himself off, swallowing hard. "I can't think, I can't breathe, my skin burns, everything's so… loud and quiet at the same time like white noise and nothing makes sense to me anymore. And I can still feel the-the-the sparks, the electricity going up and down my spine whenever I do or say something wrong or-or I don't obey fast enough or-or-or-"

"Jeremy."

"I'm sorry." Jeremy couldn't look at them. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm ruining everything. I–"

"Hey, hey. Shh, it's okay. It's alright, Miah," Michael cooed softly. Michael. God, he said all that in front of Michael. Jeremy shook his head, his back collided against a wall. He couldn't look at him, not he's looked like this, not when he's hanging on to the last threads of his sanity. "Please look at me. Look at me, Miah. Come on."

Jeremy opened his eyes at the command. Michael stood with his arms out placatingly, inching towards him. He smiled a sad, watery kind of smile and Jeremy's heart shattered. "There you are. There's my Jeremiah. It's okay now. Come here, please?" Jeremy shook his head again, pressing himself against the wall as if I'd help him disappear (he wished).

"Please come here, Miah." He sounded like he was about to cry. "It's just me, it's just Mikey. You're alright, I promise. Just come here." Michael now stood in front of him, arms out, waiting.

Jeremy sniffs, his eyes filling with tears. Michael was too good, too perfect. He couldn't believe this boy. "I'm so sorry, Mikey," he croaked, dry and broken.

He felt warm arms encasing him as Michael scooped him up, rocking him gently as he sobbed into his sweatshirt, cooing softly in his ear. "Hey, hey. It's alright. I've got you. It's okay. Shhh. I've got you."

It was like a switch flipped inside Jeremy. The flames that licked at his skin died the second Michael touched him, wrapping him in a blanket of warmth and safety. He felt a hand run through his hair, another running down his back and across his scars that for once didn't prickle or burn. Jeremy wound his hands into Michael's shirt, pressing his face to the others collarbone as he cried.

They stayed like this until Jeremy had calmed down. He didn't know how much time had passed, he still felt a little lost, but his head was clear and he could breathe again. He pulled away from Michael, wiping his face with the sleeve of his jacket, sniffing subtly. "Are you okay now?" Michael asked gently, fingers rubbing the tears from his cheeks. Jeremy nodded and Michael planted a soft kiss against his forehead like they used to do as kids. Jeremy smiled hesitantly, trying to ignore the flush that spread high across his cheeks and the unsteady thumping of his heartbeat (huh. weird).

Everyone stood stock still in place, nervous and guilty. Their eyes on him made the panic seize up in his throat again but Michael curled his fingers against the hair at the nape of his neck and everything was okay, if only for a little while. "Hi," Jeremy croaked because what the fuck was he supposed to say after that shit show? They hated him now, he was so sure.

Christine approached slowly, arms outstretched and grabbing at Jeremy's shirt. "Oh, Jerry," she cried, eyes swimming with unshed tears. "Oh no, I'm so sorry."

Jeremy was incredibly lost. "Why are you sorry? You didn't do anything wrong." That was apparently the wrong thing to say as Christine let out a small sob, hugging Jeremy tightly.

"We're all sorry," Jake added sombrely. "We should have said something. We should have figured out that something was wrong."

"You couldn't have known," Jeremy mumbled, pressing his face to Christine's hair as she shook in his arms. "It's not like I told anyone."

"But you felt like you couldn't tell us," Chloe guessed, now a lot soberer than she was earlier.

Jeremy shook his head and bit his lip (stopping again when his back twinges in pain). "I felt like I deserved it so I didn't feel the need to tell you."

Michael's hand went still against his neck. "Deserved it? That abuse?"

"Abuse? What?"

Michael moved to face him now. His expression was so heartbreakingly sad it had no business being on his face. "Miah, I've seen your back." Jeremy stiffened. "That night, a few weeks ago. I've been… I guess avoiding you because I didn't know how to approach you about them. I'm not angry with you! I swear! I just… didn't wanna upset you."

This boy. "You don't hate me? I was so sure…"

"Of course I don't hate you," Michael responded, exasperated despite himself. Jeremy cracked a smile. "I literally don't have the mental capacity to hate you. I- We love you, Jer. I never want you to think that any of us would ever hate you."

"I-I love you too."

By the end of the night they had all huddled against the fold out lounge, squeezing together in an attempt to all hug or touch Jeremy in some way. Jeremy found himself in the middle of a sleepy dog pile. His head against Michael's chest, Jenna plastered to his side, Chloe running her fingers through his hair, Brooke holding his hand over Jenna's body, Rich situated in the small space between Jenna's waist and Jeremy's thigh, Jake squeezed next to Michael with his arm over his hip, and Christine with her head on his stomach. Most of them were already asleep, the remnants of a Disney movie playing softly on the television. Jeremy relaxed. He didn't know just how starved for physical affection he was until now. And right here, cuddled next to the most important people in his life right now, for the first time in a long time Jeremy felt completely safe.

But still…

"Michael?" he murmured, half-asleep. "About Halloween…"

Michael shushed him, another kiss feathered the top of his head. Jeremy's heart soared (weird). "We'll talk tomorrow. Get some sleep, please."

"Promise? First thing?"

"First thing. I swear on my DS's battery life."

Jeremy giggled sleepily. He felt Michael's chest shift as he breathed a sighed. "Mmkay. G'night, Mikey."

"……Goodnight, Miah."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bby got hugs things are gon b k
> 
> not gonna lie I'm not entirely happy with this chapter but it was the best I could do
> 
> next chapter the boys talk and things are getting better for these kids so stay tuned for that
> 
> kk luv u bye


	4. Chorus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation in the dim light at the start of a new year and Jeremy can't help but think this could go one of two ways. But this was Michael, and Michael was so good. He would at the very least let him down easy (for what, he didn't know quite yet)
> 
> (Or _These Kids Get Their Shit Together And Everything Is Going To Be Okay_ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here I am again  
> So so sorry for the wait, this one was a DOOZY to write but the boys finally talk and everything is going to be okay!!  
> We're almost at the end, can you feel it
> 
> This is all unedited also by the way because man, I'm _tired_
> 
> I love and appreciate every single one of you. Thank you so much for being patient with me  
> <3

It was dark that morning when Jeremy wandered onto the balcony. The sun had yet to rise, the edges of the horizon a hazy turquoise as the morning was set to break across New Jersey. There was a breeze coming off the water, slowing down into still air as it travelled through the suburbia, leaving a cold, crisp feeling that hung around like mist and turned heavy breaths into smoke. Jeremy approached the railing and let his breath drift out of his mouth in puffs of pale white as he waited for the sun.

Jeremy liked sunrises. They were underrated. Most people leaned too heavily towards sunsets with how much they're romanticised in day to day life but sunrises were a quiet majesty, calm and undisturbed by the remnants of the day. A dim light cutting through the still silence that blankets the world at 4 am, where nothing feels quite real yet. He leaned against the railing, ignoring the morning dew that soaked through his jacket sleeves and sent a chi- (nope) a shiver up his bony arms. The shock of cold grounded him, reminded him of his state of being, making him acutely aware of his expanding lungs, beating heart. It was a little uncomfortable and Jeremy wished he was cuddled back up with the Squad again, warm and safe, but out here in the freezing January air he could think clearly for the first time in a long time so he wasn't about to break the spell and lose this (whatever it was).

Jeremy sighed. He honestly didn't like being like this. All broken and useless and sick. The constant stress could not be very good for his overall health and the fact that he gets phantom shocks that powerful was vaguely concerning but since when did Jeremy really care about himself as of late? So what if he didn't like it, he _needed_ it to happen. He needed to know his place. He wished he could get everyone to understand that he didn't matter. He wished things were different, that he had more control or that he had better coping mechanisms that didn't involve practically destroying himself, bottling up his feelings and letting them explode when the glass was lightly tapped.

(Then again, what else was he supposed to do? Talk to a therapist? Yeah, that conversation would go well. " _Hi. Yes. I'm pretty sure I have severe PTSD from this one time I swallowed a whole computer and it tried to take over the world so I could date a girl_." He'd be locked up before he could even finish his sentence. And Jeremy doubted that any kind of therapy could help with his shit. Being compelled to repeat insults, wait for permission, obey orders out of fear he'll be electrocuted? No amount of modern medicine would make that go away, he thinks. No, this was fine. It was the price of trying to use a cheat code on life and Jeremy would take it. He could take it.

Then he thought back to last night's breakdown and remembered that he was weak and useless.

He was absolutely fucked for the rest of his miserable life, however long that might be.)

Jeremy sighed again (he seemed to be doing that a lot lately) and mentally assessed the overall height of the balcony for absolutely no reason whatsoever.

Distantly, he heard the glass door slide open smoothly, shuffling footsteps padding onto the deck where he stood leaned over the railing. Jeremy's breath stuttered. The door closed with a click.

"Hey." Michael. _Michael_.

Jeremy rocked back, gripping the railing so hard his hands turned white. He looked up at the sky. It was still dark. "H-hi," he stuttered back, ducking his head as Michael walked up beside him.

For a moment they just breathed, coexisting quietly together in the early morning air. Jeremy rubbed his arms, tracing the goosebumps that littered his ch– ( _nope_ ) cold skin as he snuck a glance at the taller boy, examining him as he had done a thousand times before.

Michael had clearly just woken up; ruffled hair sticking up in random directions, small yawns muffled under his palm, bleary eyes peering from behind thick glasses. He was wrapped up in both his hoodie and a thick blanket he seemed to have stolen from the bed draped over his shoulders, bunched in his free hand and clutched to his chest like the clasp of a cape. The morning cold tinted his cheeks and nose pink and he sniffed, hugging the heat to his chest.

Michael was lovely.

Jeremy skilfully glanced away before Michael could catch him staring. This feeling was new but weirdly familiar, like something that's always been there but he'd just never noticed before. It was light and soft, settling right in the middle of his chest like a dull ache that wasn't at all painful, and he couldn't for the life of him put a name to it. It frustrated him but at the same time, he felt content, happy that the feeling was there. That, for all intents and purposes, frustrated him even more. He rubbed his arms faster to get rid of the strange feeling that clung to him stubbornly like honey against his skin.

"Are you cold?" Michael asked, glancing over with concern dancing in his eyes. He began unspooling the blanket from his shoulders without waiting for an answer and Jeremy jolted, patting at his hands gently as if to push them back into place.

"No, no, I'm fine. I'm not cold," Jeremy very obviously lied. Michael shot him a deadpanned look. Jeremy felt like he'd actually been shot.

"Jeremy…"

"Seriously, I'm okay. Keep your blanket."

Michael made a disapproving noise but seemed to give up. Jeremy relaxed for about 0.42 seconds before a soft, warm weight was unceremoniously dumped over his head, blinding him. Jeremy squawked, batting his hands against the thick fabric to tug his head out and he glared as Michael laughed. "What did I just say, Michael?"

"A whole lot of lies, my dude," Michael answered easily, shoving his hands into his pockets to chase the warmth. "You're always cold in the morning, even in the summer."

Jeremy huffed, wrapping the blanket around his shivering frame and relishing in the heat that practically oozed from the fabric. "You don't know me."

Michael rolled his eyes. "I literally know everything about you."

 _Not anymore~_ , Jeremy's traitorous mind whispered in a sing-song tone.

 _Shut the fuck up~_ , Jeremy mentally whispered back in the same tone.

It was kind of right, though. Michael didn't know everything about him anymore. He was still the same Jeremy Heere as he always has been, still had anxiety problems, bouts of depression, intrusive thoughts. He was still ambidextrous, (probably) still had the high score in the local arcades pinball machine, still had a deep-seated aversion to pickled eggs. But the SQUIP changed aspects of him, made him as much different as he was the same. He tore parts of his personality out and stitched in shiny replacements that clashed with everything else, a Frankenstein's monster of a person. A _freak_.

Michael didn't know any of this. He didn't know that he could now barely look at the colour green when it used to be one of his favourite colours. Didn't know that he couldn't go into the mall without constantly hearing the echoes of the shoppers singing a choir about how much of a failure he was. He didn't know that having his arms bare made him feel weird, that certain words and phrases freaked him out, that he struggled to eat sometimes, that his pain tolerance was now a lot higher than it was before.

Michael didn't know about all the things that made Jeremy broken and Jeremy would honestly rather die than give Michael more reasons to leave him.

Outwardly, Jeremy composed himself and hummed noncommittally, pushing the edges of the blanket up to cover his mouth and nose. He mumbled a small " _thank you_ " into the fabric and he watched Michael smile out of the corner of his eye, bumping shoulders gently in acknowledgment.

Those small, fleeting moments were normal, safe. Jeremy smiled gently at the familiarity and the ache in his chest grew (seriously, dread? Anxiety? Heartburn? What was it? It was starting to piss him off a little).

"Heeeey, soooo," Michael drawled, uncertainty staining his tone. Jeremy couldn't do much else but stare at him from over the makeshift blanket muffler, eyes wide and attentive to compensate for his lack of expression. Michael visibly swallowed. "You, uh… about last night…"

Jeremy's smile faded slowly. Right. Last night. He did say that he wanted to talk about, well, everything with Michael. Try to explain why he needed this so badly, ask if there was any way he could help make Michael more comfortable, apologise for whatever he did to him in the bathroom, and all that. But with the way Michael was fidgeting, hands wringing inside of his front pocket and rocking back on his heels in the way that he only does when he's nervous, Jeremy found that he wanted to talk about literally anything else on planet Earth.

"We don't have to talk about it," Jeremy mumbled through the blanket muffler, eyes averted to his socked feet toeing aimlessly at the gap between the railing and the wooden floor. "If you're not comfortable with it. It's okay."

"It's not. Okay, I mean. We should really talk. Besides, I did promise on my DS battery and dude, I'm only halfway done with my Pokedex." Michael grins faintly as Jeremy giggles at his attempt to lighten the mood.

"Should we, um, sit?"

Michael snorts. "What is this, group therapy? AA? Hello, my name is Michael Mell and I'm an alcoholic."

"Michael!" Jeremy laughs.

"Okay, okay, sorry!" They laughed for a while, good-naturedly, uncaring. For a small moment in time, everything was the smallest bit okay. Then Jeremy felt the all too familiar tingle run threateningly down his back and he fought to straighten himself up as subtly as possible.

Jeremy was never any good at subtlety.

Michael was looking at him with so much guilt it _hurt_. Jeremy contemplated throwing himself off the balcony to get away from it (the fall wouldn't kill him, he'd managed to figure that much out. A pity) "I'm sorry," Michael breathed. "I'm so, so sorry. I noticed something was wrong and I didn't do a goddamn thing about it. I'm terrible at confrontation, you know me." He looked ready to cry. He looked like how Jeremy felt. "God, I didn't mean to avoid you, I swear that wasn't what I was doing. I just needed some time, try and figure out how I was going to help you."

"You don't need to be sorry," Jeremy muttered, turning away from Michael and his sad, sad eyes. "If anything I should be sorry. I didn't mean for you to see them, I didn't want you to."

"Why? Do you not trust me anymore?"

"No! No, I do! God, of _course_ I trust you! I just…" Jeremy trailed off. How could he explain? What was he supposed to say? "What possible good outcome would have come out of it? It wasn't anything that I didn't deserve anyway, and I didn't want to drag you into my bullshit. You had enough on your mind."

"And you didn't?" Michael blurted, startling Jeremy. "I saw the smallest bit of you back that night and it honestly looked worse than most shit you see in horror films. And you say that it's okay because you deserved it? Jeremy… do you even fully understand what happened to you?"

"What are you talking about? They're just scars–"

" _Torture_ scars," Michael cut in forcefully, voice wet and wavering. "They're _torture_ scars, Jeremy. I just… I can't even comprehend…" He looked at a loss, hands shaking, eyes darting. He started actually tearing up and Jeremy didn't know what to do. "H-how could you say that you deserved them? Deserved to be _tortured_? You deserve so many things, but torture is not, will never, be one of them."

Jeremy's mind scrambled. "I-I don't… I wasn't…" Jeremy shook his head, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes, letting the blanket hang off his shoulders precariously. Things weren't making sense again, and the fact that it was Michael was wasn't making sense scared him even more than the fact that his reality was crumbling, that his brain literally stopped believing in everything around him.

"Jeremy—"

"What happened in the bathroom, Michael?" Jeremy forced out. He needed to know, he _needed to know_. "What did I do to you? Please."

"I forgive you, Jere. Seriously, I do."

"You shouldn't!" Jeremy almost wailed, stuffing the blanket into his mouth to muffle the sound. "The SQUIP was off, Michael! You shouldn't forgive me! I'm a terrible person, I shouldn't be alive!"

Michael looked distraught and now, now he had to get it. Now he saw Jeremy for what he was and was going to leave him, he's sure– "Don't say that, Miah. God, don't… Jeremy, you're amazing. You're so amazing, please believe me. What you–" Michael paused and reached over, combing his fingers gently through Jeremy's hair. The action alone soothed him and his breathing evened out (Jeremy didn't even realise that he was starting to hyperventilate).

"What _it made you do_ ," Michael pressed on. "It… I'm not gonna lie, it tore me apart. I felt betrayed and angry and upset and I may have had a really bad panic attack straight after. It put me in a bad place, Miah. Somewhere I never wanna be again." He paused again and Jeremy let that all sink in. Jesus Christ, he was terrible. He did that to him, he drove him to that. And he had the gall to ask for him back? Holy shit, Michael should hate him.

"But," Michael continues, still scratching lightly against Jeremy's scalp. "You were being influenced by that monster. For months, I can't believe–…" Michael took a breath. "What happened to me wasn't okay, I'm allowed that much, but I forgive you. Please believe me when I say that I forgive you. You were being conditioned by that thing, abused and tortured every single day for fucking _months_. You must've been so scared."

"I-I was," Jeremy admitted quietly. "I always hated myself in some way, how I looked or acted or anything, and the SQUIP was supposed to… fix it. So I'd be worth something to people. It did a lot of things to me that it told me was going to help me fix it. And I just _let it_." He spat the words out like it was something vile, his mind racing as it shuffled through everything the SQUIP had done to him at lightning speed. "I let it go through my head and scramble whatever it wanted, I let it control my body like a puppet, I let it pressure me into taking an upgrade, I let it literally block the only good thing in my life from my fucking vision. I just… let it do whatever it wanted until it was almost too late."

Jeremy sighed. He was so tired. "Sure I didn't tell it to pull the trigger but I practically handed it the fucking gun. And you can't blame a computer for following its programming but you can blame me for fucking taking it in the first place. For not listening to you that night because I was so deluded into thinking that it was helping me. For not seeing anything wrong with how it was treating me when every threat and every shock and every suggestion to end my life became normal and expected."

He chanced a glance at Michael, peeking from over nervously to see a horrified expression stretched across the others face, twisted and foreign. Jeremy didn't like it.

"It… told you to kill yourself?" Michael choked out, stuttering on the last couple of words. Jeremy shrugged and Michael looked like he was about to throw up.

"It told me that my life wouldn't be worth living without it. That if it weren't for it I would already be dead," Jeremy explained in a carefully neutral tone, almost offhandedly like it barely mattered. Michael continued to grow paler with every word. "It made me repeat these phrases, like some kind of mantra. I did it so often it's like second nature now, even without it being here. Sometimes if I did it enough times a day it wouldn't shock me, even if I had messed something up."

"Jeremy, that's… _horrible_."

"It was," Jeremy forced out, turning away from Michael's sorrowful eyes. "But that's what I get, I guess."

The silence between them now was tense, weighing down on them much like the blanket Jeremy had draped over his shoulders. Michael continued to stare at Jeremy and Jeremy continued to avoid his gaze almost guiltily. This was his fault. He did this. Now Michael was uncomfortable again, do you see what you did?

_Stupid useless freak can't even talk to a friend without making things awkward and uncomfortable what the hell is wrong with you you should have just shut up and taken it you should have just **died** —_

Warm, strong arms cut the voice off, drowning it in a tight embrace as Michael pulled Jeremy into his chest for the millionth time. Michael pressed is face to Jeremy's hair, not crying to very obviously suppressing sobs that racked through his body in frantic, shuddering breaths. Jeremy freed his arms trapped between the two and wound them around Michael's shoulders, squeezing tightly and rubbing comforting circles on his back. "Hey. Hey, it's okay," Jeremy cooed softly. It only seemed to make Michael more upset.

"G-god, don't comfort me. I should be c-comforting you. Oh my god, I'm sorry, 'm so so sorry."

Jeremy was lost again. "You didn't do anything wrong. It's alright."

"N-n-no it's not. Christ, I _yelled at you!_ I yelled at you and I didn't even t-try to understand what was going on! I was so b-bitter and angry and yeah you left me and called me a loser and that hurt, none of that was okay, but you were suffering and _I almost left you too!_ "

Michael took a shuddering breath, squeezing Jeremy so tight it was as if he were afraid he would disappear if he let go. He rested his chin on the crown of Jeremy's head as the smaller leaned against him. "I was so ready to burn everything that reminded me of you and just leave you to it. I almost walked off and left you with that monster. If it wasn't for your dad, I might've just done that. I would have left you and you'd be gone and I would _never know_."

Michael choked back a sob and buried his face back into Jeremy's curls. Jeremy's mind raced, cataloguing everything that had been said and trying to piece them all together into some kind of plausible timeline. "I'm– Michael, I'm–"

"Don't you _dare_ apologise," Michael practically growled, this tone juxtaposed by the gentleness in his touch as he nuzzled Jeremy's head, sending that fluttering feeling in Jeremy's chest into a frenzy. "You've done enough apologising. It's my turn."

Jeremy gently untangled himself from Michael's grasp, moving back to cup his cheeks and rub the tear tracts away. "You don't need to apologise," Jeremy murmured. "You didn't know, none of it was your fault. Please don't cry."

"You know it's not your fault either?" Michael sniffed, leaning into Jeremy's touch.

Jeremy looked away, dropping his hands from Michael's face to curl them around his body (the blanket must've fallen off his shoulders at some point during… all that). "That's different." Because it was. Michael almost leaving him, expected. He would leave himself too (he wished he could). For all intents and purposes, Michael should have left. Michael should have dropped his ass, if not before The Play then straight after. Everything was his fault, his fault, _his fault_

"No it's not," Michael insisted, taking Jeremy's shoulders and forcing him to look at him. "It's not. You didn't know any of this would have happened, it would have been impossible for you to know. You were being used, tortured and manipulated by that fucking floppy disk. None of this is your fault, okay? None of it. Hey, hey. Look at me." Michael took Jeremy's chin, turning it gently to face him. Jeremy trembled, fighting back sobs as tears fell freely from his face and Michael wiped them away, leaning in close. "It wasn't you fault. You made a mistake and you fought so hard to fix it. You did some bad things but you did everything to make up for it. It's not your fault, _it's not your fault_."

Jeremy shook his head, rubbing his eyes dry with the sleeve of his jacket as Michael's grip on his face softened, his fingers running down his neck to rest on his shoulders. "Say it, Jeremy," Michael urged softly.

"I-I-It's not m-m-my fa-fault."

"Again."

"I-It's not my f-fault."

"One more, please."

"It's n-not my fault."

Michael rubbed his thumbs softly against the skin where his shoulders met his neck, the tips of his fingers creeping under the collar of his shirt. "Good," he whispered, the pads of his calloused fingers running against his pale skin soothingly, travelling over his shoulders until they wound around his back and paused.

Michael hesitated, his fingers lightly grazing his back. "Can I…?" Jeremy shivered and nodded, nervously sliding his jacket off his shoulders, turning so that his back was to Michael. He felt Michael fiddle with the hem of his shirt before gently lifting it up to expose his back to the world. Michael hissed sympathetically. Jeremy held his breath.

His fingers were cool against his burning skin, tracing the raised marks that cut across his back and shot up his spine in jagged fractures. He ran his fingers down his spine softly, rubbing at the knot that peaked out from the hem of his jeans as he went down and then back up in soothing motions and Jeremy found himself relaxing, his haggard breathing becoming less of a chore. Michael's thumbs rubbed at his shoulder blades and dipped down his sides, fluttering along the edges of the lightning scars that brushed his ribs and around to his lower back where the skin was especially rough. Jeremy could practically feel Michael's careful concentration like if he pressed too hard he might hurt him. His heart fluttered in his chest (still weird) as Michael's comforting warmth enveloped him and he felt safe again.

Michael seemed to hesitate as he got to the scars on the back of his neck, the lighter but more irritated scars from where that area would collect sweat and rub against the collar of his shirt uncomfortably. Jeremy opened his mouth to ask Michael if he was okay when the taller moved suddenly, leaning down into Jeremy's space, his breath tickling the back of his neck—

Michael's lips were full and warm and incredibly soft, almost feather light as they pressed against his skin. Jeremy gasped quietly, his breath hitching, his heart at his throat, his brain screeching to a halt.

Whoa.

Okay.

Reboot.

Michael was peppering kisses (what) across the back of his neck, instantly soothing the buzzing, itchy heat that always seemed to stick to his scars. His lips ( _what_ ) moved over his shoulder blades and to his spine, pressing harder against the redder, angrier scars around his mid-back. All too soon, Michael moved back with a soft sound ( _oh god_ ) and Jeremy regained the ability to breathe, each inhale shuddering through his trembling lips.

"Jer? Jeremy? Shit. I'm sorry." Michael moved around to face him, dropping his shirt to clasp onto his shoulders, nervous, upset. Fuck. "I'm sorry," Michael repeated. Jeremy wouldn't find his voice. Why couldn't he speak? "I don't know what– I-I– I don't know why I did that? I just… I don't know. I'm sorry."

Holy shit, why was he sorry? Why would Michael Mell ever need to be sorry?

Jeremy stared at Michael. The sky had lightened behind him, turning the clouds a soft pink and orange and spiralling around his silhouetted figure like silk curtains. The run was about of rise, peaking from the horizon and sending a golden light to frame Michael in a soft glow. His tan cheeks were flushed and his eyes squinted behind his thick glasses as he assessed Jeremy carefully, brows furrowed in concern. The sun caught his hair and set it on fire, tendrils of dark hair falling messily from where he'd run his fingers through it, tugging at the locks anxiously.

Michael Mell was absolutely wonderful.

(Shit. Fuck. He knows what that stupid feeling is now)

He must have been staring for a while because Michael's apologies die on his lips, stumbling out with a small and confused " _what?_ " before Jeremy lurched forwards and pressed his lips to Michael's. Michael inhaled through his nose sharply, hands flying up to hover over Jeremy's arms uncertainly as Jeremy clutched the taller boy's shoulders and raised himself onto his toes, pressing down hard against him and letting his enthusiasm make up for his inexperience. He opened his mouth and sucked on Michael's bottom lip before pulling away, rocking back on his heels as he gauged Michael's reaction anxiously.

Michael looked dazed, eyes wide, mouth agape, breathing hard as if he couldn't get air into his lungs fast enough. His arms were still raised, frozen in the air where Jeremy once stood, and Jeremy quietly admired the redness that spread from his cheeks down his neck and over the tips of his ears, trying to squish the squirming ball of anxiety that reared forward at Michael's stunned silence.

Michael raised a hand to his mouth and Jeremy heard a muffled " _holy shit_ " from beneath his palm. Jeremy jittered and moved to step back and give Michael some space when the other boy tore through the small space between them, grabbed Jeremy's face with both hands and crash their lips together.

Michael's hands were touching him everywhere, flying from his face to his hair to his shoulders and down his sides, the light yet frantic touches making Jeremy shiver and hum in delight. Jeremy wrapped his arms around Michael's neck, hanging off his warmth, basking in his light. Michael sighed and snaked his arms around Jeremy's waist, pulling him impossibly closer, forcing Jeremy to arch back as he pressed forward and kissed him as if it was the end of the world. It was far from perfect but it was theirs and that was more than enough.

They pulled back and pressed their foreheads together, still wrapped tightly around each other and panting softly in the inch of space between their lips. Jeremy's eyes roamed Michael's perfect face, basked in his perfect warmth, and the world felt real again.

"What was that for?" Michael whispered, so softly it was as if he didn't want to disturb the mood.

Jeremy's mind flicked through everything at once, flashing back to moments with Michael. Michael offering him some of his lunch when he forgot to eat, Michael sharing his slushees, Michael comforting him when he had a bad day. Michael's hugs that felt like a safety blanket, Michael's smile that outshone the sun, Michael's laugh that filled the air with light and warmth. Michael's everything. Michael _was_ everything.

"I love you," Jeremy decided, the words leaving his lips like a prayer.

"I-I love you too," Michael breathed.

Jeremy felt the breath leave him all at once. He didn't think that there were any other words on planet Earth that could have filled him with as much joy as those did. Jeremy blinked, blushed, and then he giggled. "I think that kiss could've told me that, Michael." (I love you so much)

The still quiet that surrounded them was broken by their infectious happiness as they laughed, cuddled close in the cold January air with barely an inch of space between them. They knew that it wasn't over, they knew that the future holds just as much hardship and heartbreak as it did joy and happiness, but right now they didn't care. Jeremy tucked his head under Michael's chin, Michael wrapped his arms around Jeremy's shivering frame.

The sun rose.


	5. Instrumental

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael's cried in a lot of bathrooms during his time on planet earth, but one particular trip to the tiled anxiety oasis vaguely reminds him of another such time. Michael reminisces.
> 
> (Or _Michael's In A Bathroom But It's Slightly Less Sad_ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow this was late. So sorry
> 
> So funny story, originally I had only planned for 5 chapters buuuuuut the story jumped up and shouted "there are still so many points you wanna address from this musical that you feel are not talked about enough" into my ear so here we are
> 
> Just a note, this is just my opinion of how Michael would actually feel about the Bathroom fiasco. Some people might disagree, and that's fine. I just felt that, given how Michael very obviously knew what to do during a panic attack, indication that he's familiar with how they work, Michael wouldn't have been traumatised by the event like how a lot of people portray it. Idk. You're free to portray Michael however you want. Just, as someone who goes through intense panic attacks regularly, I feel like Michael would be a lot more rational about it

Bathrooms were usually the go-to for Michael whenever he needed to cry. They weren't in the least bit comforting - what could possibly be comforting about a room where you either sit on a very special chair or stand under a glorified hose - but for some weird cosmic reason, bathrooms seem to be at the height of the anxiety induced isolation market. Something about its endless availability or the access to stalls in which you could lock yourself in for the illusion of privacy that seemed to appeal to panicking teenagers everywhere, an unspoken agreement that if you feel like absolute shit and need a moment to bawl your eyes out before you re-enter society as a functioning human being, you find a bathroom.

Michael found himself in one such bathroom on a surprisingly warm January day, leaving the sink running and probably costing the establishment thousands in water bills as he desperately tried to make his face significantly less red. He could feel his cheeks burn white hot and he swore the water evaporated the instant it touched his skin, scowling at himself in the mirror because holy fuck, get a grip, Mell! He filled his palms with more water and doused his face once more, doing very little to calm the unrelenting flush that spread through his face, his ears, his neck.

This was a terrible idea. Michael has had bad ideas in the past - excruciatingly bad ideas; dated, colour-coded and listed by intensity of bad - but this? Oh boy. He was way in over his head with this. This was invading Russia, Sonic 06, vote Trump for president level of bad idea. Napoleon fucking Bonaparte was shaking his damn head at him and telling him to stop from his _grave_. How could he have possibly, possibly, convinced himself that he could do this? At all?

 _What was this_ , asks the imaginary conversationalist in Michael's panicked brain?

A date.

A date with Jeremiah William Heere aka his best friend aka his boyfriend(?) aka _The Boy Michael Has Been In Love With Practically Since The Day Of His Birth._

Michael was so fucked.

All panicking and slight exaggerations aside, this was a dream come true. Michael Mell on a date with Jeremy Heere, the nicest, sweetest, most cutest boy alive; who liked comics and retro video games and Star Wars and DnD and now, apparently, Michael. He liked _Michael_. Michael could literally faint right now if the grimy, tiled floor of the public restroom wasn't suspiciously damp and if he wasn't about to go on a date soon.

Holy shit, he was going on a date soon.

With Jeremy Heere.

Holy. Shit.

Michael was hyperventilating. Michael was fucking hyperventilating in a goddamn cafe bathroom waiting for Jeremy Heere to arrive for their date. Together. Alone. Fuck. Shakily, Michael pressed the home button on his phone and the screen lit up like a lightning strike. 11:35. _Fuck_. He was running out of designated panic time. He had a whole fucking plan for this date. Jeremy was going to get here at 12. They were going to have lunch together, sit and talk like couples do. They were going to see a movie and hold hands in the dark. They were going to go get dinner and ice cream and watch the sky get dimmer. He was going to drive Jeremy home and walk him up to his door and kiss him goodnight and it was going to be perfect. It had to be perfect. And here he was wasting his prep time in a fucking bathroom because he couldn't breathe _he couldn't breathe oh fuck_

He stumbled forward and slammed his hands against the counter, nearly flinging his phone into the sink when he scrambled for purchase to try and ground himself, forcing his lungs to take measured breaths. He tapped his fingers against the counter one at a time to the beat of Bob Marley's Is This Love, trying to fixate on the song and drown out the onslaught of paranoid thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him. It did nothing for the shaking, the crushing cold that settled in his stomach, the sudden allure of curling up in a ball and hiding forever in a dark corner until time withered him away and he was left a shell of his former self planted in that same spot for all eternity because he couldn't get off his stupid panicking ass and go on a fucking date with Jeremy goddamn perfect everything Heere.

But y'know. At least he could breathe now. 1 out of 4 wasn't too bad.

Michael rubbed his hands over his face, sliding his glasses off to pinch at the bridge of his nose because goddamn he needed to chill. He's panicked about worse things in different bathrooms before and they all turned out alright. He was going to be okay. He wasn't going to ruin anything or mess up or whatever. Everything was going to be fine. He just needed his brain to believe that.

He didn't wait 7 goddamn years of his life for Jeremy Heere only to waste the first chance he got to take him on a date because his brain was being an unreasonable piece of shit.

Okay. He's okay. Deep breaths and Bob Marley. He could do it. Everything's fine, everything's cool. Just deep breaths and Bob Marley.

…

…

Yeah, nah, he was totally fucked.

He could get out of it. He could text Jeremy right now and tell him that they needed to reschedule because he wasn't feeling well but his fingers felt like lead as they hovered over his contacts, refusing to go anywhere near the one designated for Jeremy. Or he could just not show up entirely, just sit in his car and hide from the world for the rest of the day, but a vision of a crushed Jeremy waiting alone in the cafe for a date that never showed fills his head and stabs at his heart. He couldn't do that to him.

Michael flicked the tap off - the sound of the rushing water wasn't doing him any good - and crouched down in the shadow cast by the counter, his face in his hands as he hummed a nonsensical melody to himself in an attempt to gather his thoughts. This was usually reserved for bigger attacks, ones his usual methods couldn't quell. The last time he had to do this was a few months ago in the bathroom of Jake Dillinger, moments after his whole world came crashing down around him in the form of six cold, mechanical words. The night Jeremy walked out on him. The night he was going to walk out on Jeremy.

Despite everything they talked about, Michael still hadn't told Jeremy everything. Honestly, the day Michael tells him the whole truth about the bathroom is the day they bury him in his grave. He'd even planned it to the very second so that they'd waste zero (0) time between his deathbed confession and the lowering of his casket. Some might call that morbid. Michael liked to think of it as organised. And due to the circumstances, Michael liked to think that it was justified. He refused to make Jeremy feel any worse, to make him hate himself any more than he already does. He would never forgive himself if he became the cause of Jeremy's anguish. Still, that night haunted him, and although he had pretty much made peace with it now he always found his mind drifting to it in times like these where his anxiety seemed to have temporarily triumphed over his rationality.

When Jeremy left him in the bathroom the pain was unbearable. He was convinced that his best friend, the boy of his dreams, the love of his life, _hated_ him. He was sure that Jeremy never wanted to see him again and after a long while when the pain faded a little, a white-hot anger took its place - justified, entitled rage. How dare he? After all that they've been through, after everything they'd done, how _dare_ he? Just about everything Michael did he did for him. All the support, the comfort, the advice, the gifts, the care, the love, the longing. The pure adoration, borderline worship, raw feelings that ripped through him with every breath he took in the other's presence. 12 whole years of all that and Jeremy just fucking walks away? How could he do that to him? His anger took him all the way home, rummaging through his room to find every single thing that had anything to do with Jeremy Heere and destroy them, burn them away along with his feelings. Jeremy could have his shiny new friends and his shiny new life, Michael was _done with him._

But when Michael sat down the next night with the box of nick-nacks and a trash can already alight with flickering orange flames ready to be fed, he felt… off. Empty, cold, wrong. A sense of dread and foreboding filled whatever space was left behind from where he'd tried to cut Jeremy out of his heart. It hit him all at once that he was really doing this and when he was done, he'd be alone. Michael never liked being alone. Of course, he liked having space - he more often than not found comfort in the still quiet of solitude - but to be truly alone, that was his greatest fears. Being alone to Michael was synonymous to being abandoned. Ignored. Forgotten. Michael was used to being a side character, even preferred it in a way, but he could always count on being a constant part of Jeremy's story. Now he wasn't even that. So what was there now?

Nothing. He _felt_ nothing, there _is_ nothing, he _was_ nothing.

So he sat in the dark, illuminated by the flickering orange light of both the trash fire and the end of his blunt, flicking through photos, birthday gifts, ticket stubs, all alight with happy memories from when they were a team. He sat reliving each and every one of them as he sorted them in piles, not having the heart to burn them just yet, and the bitter taste in his mouth was washed away only to be replaced with a soul-crushing nothing.

Minutes later, a pantless apostle came sprinting towards his doorstep.

The gravity of what had happened never truly hit until well after the events of The Play, staring down at Jeremy's unresponsive form spread across the stark whiteness of a hospital bed that he had no business being in. Michael didn't like to think about what could have happened had Mr. Heere not caught him outside his house and convinced him to save Jeremy, but after his and Jeremy's heart to heart on the balcony a few weeks ago a plethora of scenarios filled his head, drowning him in an onslaught of what-ifs that made his stomach curl and his blood turn to ice. He had lost Jeremy that night, but had he not been convinced to try and save him Jeremy might have ended up being lost himself. No, not lost, gone. Jeremy would be gone and replaced with some carbon copy puppeteered by a monster, and he would have watched it happen all the while bitterly thinking that Jeremy was happy getting everything he wanted. And sure, he might have been, but the price was far too steep for it to be an even remotely good thing.

The subject of Jeremy's torture hadn't come up again since his outburst but talks for a therapist came to light in the late hours when Jeremy's mind crackled with bolts of electricity and non-stop apologies to an invisible tyrant. Days where Jeremy couldn't stop shaking and fidgeting to the point where Michael's hand would come away bruised where longs fingers squeezed just a tad too tightly. Sleepless nights when Jeremy would toss and turn fitfully in his bed, begging for it to stop, screaming for help, fighting against Michael's hold as he murmured lullabies in Tagalog to try and soothe him. Jeremy would always apologise, guilty for everything he put Michael though, desperate to make it up to him somehow. Michael would always insist he was more than happy. For every accidental bruise, every sleepless night, every bit of support he'd happily give to keep Jeremy safe.

And he'd do it all again. Only for him, always for him.

Michael didn't hear the door open, the hushed voices just outside, the approaching footsteps making their way to his crouched position; but he did hear Jeremy's voice float above the white noise, making Michael lift his head and meet clear blue eyes of an angel.

"Hey," the angel whispered, his voice laced with soft concern. "I got here a few minutes ago. The waitress said that you've been in here for an hour."

"Damn. W-w-wasted my prep ti- time," Michael joked weakly, his voice catching on the syllables as he bowed his head again, squeezing his eyes shut. He leaned into Jeremy's gentle touch, running his fingers through Michael's tangled, unruly hair as he soothed him, helping him wind down from his panic attack. Jeremy leaned in and pressed his forehead to Michael's crown, humming quietly to bring Michael back to earth. Michael recognised the melody of a classical piece and almost laughed. "Holst? Really?"

"Who doesn't love Jupiter?"

"I'm more of a Venus guy myself."

"Ooooh, romantic," Jeremy teased, his giggling lilt making Michael's heart soar.

"Only for you, my love," Michael droned dramatically, breaking off into watery giggles as Jeremy snorted unattractively. They laughed for a while, their voices echoing off the bathroom walls and fading out into sporadic sighs and steady breaths. Jeremy dragged his hands down Michael's neck and across his arms before settling on squeezing his cold hands comfortingly, a symbol of unending support. Michael sighed, finally content enough to bring his gaze back up to Jeremy's. Michael swore up and down that Jeremy's eyes held the sky.

"How're you feeling, Mikey?" Jeremy asked, his breath ghosting Michael's cheeks making him shiver.

"Better, now that you're here." And he meant it. With everything he had.

Jeremy smiled, a soft kind of smile reserved only for him. "I'm glad," he whispered, pressing a kiss to Michael's forehead. He stood up, gently guiding Michael into the same position. He patted his hair down, fixing his glasses and smoothing out his hoodie in sweet gestures that made Michael melt. "There we go," he murmurs. "Perfect."

"Stop complimenting yourself," Michael whined jokingly, nuzzling into Jeremy's hair as he laughed airily. Jeremy bumped his head lightly against Michael's chin in silent retaliation, sliding his hands up to grip the front of his hoodie as they hugged and for a little while, everything was fine.

"I'm sorry I ruined our date," Michael says sheepishly after they'd left, climbing into Michael's car to get away from the noises of the busy cafe.

Jeremy shakes his head, sliding his feet up to hug his legs to his chest. "You didn't ruin anything, Mikey."

Michael sighed, resting his head against the steering wheel. "But this was supposed to be perfect. I had a plan and everything."

"It already is perfect. You're here with me, that makes it perfect." Michael turned to stare at Jeremy almost incredulously. Fuck, he's so sweet. What did he do to deserve him? "Besides," Jeremy continues easily. "If you really look at it, we've been going on dates for literal years."

Michael opened his mouth for a rebuttal but, huh, when he really thinks about it. "I… can't argue with that. Shit, we're practically married at this point."

Jeremy laughs, hiding his face in his knees for a moment before his leg muscles spasmed and he slid them down, straightening up again. Michael watched sadly as his smile faltered but never dropped and chose to ignore the permanent physical reminder of Jeremy's constant state of mind, turning to buckle his seatbelt and motioning Jeremy to do the same. "C'mon. The day's not over yet. We can grab some fast food, catch a movie, whatever you want."

"I am craving some Wendy's right now."

Michael grinned and snatched Jeremy's hand from across the console, leaning over to press a kiss to the skin. "Anything for my beautiful wife," he sung, watching in amusement Jeremy turned bright red and spluttered, wrenching his hand away to smack Michael's arms lightly.

"Shut your whore mouth, Mell!"

"Hey, you didn't deny it."

"Don't test me. I'll divorce you."

"Baby, no, think of the children!"

And Michael pulled out of the carpark, driving off to their next destination with a musical laugh ringing in his ears, eyes that held the midday sky burned into his memory, and a soft, pale hand held tightly in his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just gonna want y'all that this story had developed into something a little longer and a lot more heartbreaking. I have plans for this fic. Terrible horrible plans that I have to make these kids go through to build them back up again. The next chapter is going to be the hardest for me to write and quiets possibly the hardest for you guys to read. I apologise in advance but it has to happen. Much like Michael's bathroom, I really need to address these points. Be on the lookout for some major tag changes and possibly a rating change in the future.
> 
> Take it easy, guys <3


	6. Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy doesn't break. He shatters.
> 
>  
> 
> (Or _The SQUIP is a piece of shit and Jeremy learns the definition of the word Volatile_ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *scuttles into the room*  
> i can explain
> 
> okay so this is late. really really late. later than ive ever been. but that's mostly because this chapter was a BITCH to write. seriously, this one went through so many re-writes and re-works it's not even funny. not a single line in this is the same as the first, third, even fourth draft. i was never happy with how it turned out but i guess I'll have to settle with something otherwise I'd be here for the rest of the year. im content with how this chapter turned out but it does mean that it changes a few events in the next few chapters so that'll go into back into re-working. fun
> 
> nevertheless, thank you all so much for your patience. i worked really hard on this chapter and i hope it lives up to expectation
> 
> PLEASE BE WARNED THERES SOME PRETTY HEAVY THOUGHTS NEAR THE END HERE PLEASE BE SAFE I LOVE YOU

"Are you alright, Jeremiah?"

Jeremy loathed that question. It was unnecessary, impersonal, clinical. The words sent an uncomfortable tingle down Jeremy's spine every time, a bleak reminder of why he was here and what he was here to get. The thought of having that same question asked to him every week for months was annoying uncomfortable but, unfortunately, it was reality.

Jeremy squirmed in the chair, crossing and uncrossing his legs in an attempt to find a comfortable position. He never does. "Yeah. I'm fine, I guess," Jeremy answers blandly, purposely unspecific as if he were challenging her. He wasn't. He was just annoyed by the whole situation he finds himself in on a weekly basis.

The doctor purses her lips but presses on, determined to continue the session with minor hiccups. "Can you describe how you're feeling today? Has your medication been helpful? Are the voices troubling you?"

Jeremy suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. He can describe his fucking day for you, Dr. Sherman. He can describe how the pills feel like burning anvils going down his throat, how the car ride to the building feels like the ferry across the river Styx. How the world turns grey when the SQUIP makes his ghastly appearance on the Fuck Jeremy Heere show, an exclusive interview with all of his fears and insecurities splayed open like a dissected animal on an examination table welcoming anyone to come poke and prod at it. He could go on for hours about how just this morning he saw someone on the street drinking a bottle of Mountain Dew and almost vomited, how three days ago the Squad all went to the mall and he spent nearly 2 hours pacing around outside until he could breathe properly, how his skin itched and he was so restless and he just wanted everyone on the planet to be _quiet for one minute he just wants it to be quiet._

He doesn't say any of this. Instead, Jeremy let out a long, suffering sigh and says, "I'm okay. The medicine helps a bit." Because they do, but it never stops the SQUIP for very long.

The thing about trauma, Jeremy learns, is that it manifests in different ways depending on the person. Dr. Sherman (his actual legitimate therapist, God, how damaged is he?) says that the voices in his head, the compulsion, the nightmares, were quite possibly signs of PTSD. She assured him that there was treatment for it, that there was nothing wrong with needing help, but the words stick to Jeremy's skull, rattling around the empty spaces that weren't filled with panic. PTSD. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. On top of everything, _everything_ he already had and everything the SQUIP left him with, he had that.

Jeremy really shouldn't be surprised. He knew it had to be that, he suspected that much. But thinking that he probably had it and being told by a professional that he actually had it were two very different things and no matter how much Jeremy was expecting it, he was still left reeling.

Dr. Sherman sighs, scribbling something on the patient sheet she had on her admittedly cute, sticker-filled clipboard. "Please cooperate with me, Jeremiah." Jeremy internally winced at the consistent use of his full name but said nothing. He never bothered to correct her before, why start now? "I'm here to help you," she continued, her voice soothing and melodically. Irritatingly kind.

"Sorry," Jeremy muttered, fiddling with his fingers clenched in his lap, hidden from sight because if Sherman saw them he was certain attention would be directed to it. "M' just tired."

"Are you experiencing some uncomfortable after-effects from your medication? Trouble sleeping or staying asleep?"

"This is a different kind of tired."

"Can you describe it for me?"

"I don't know."

"Try."

Jeremy sighs, ducking his head down in thought. He could barely describe it to himself in his head, let alone out loud to his therapist. It was like a weight that hung just above his head. He could just feel the pressure that threatened to crush him dangling over him on a thin wire that everyone around him had the ability to cut. It was kind of like a muted vulnerability, exhausting his need to look over his shoulder for a threat that doesn't exist anymore until it was literally draining him.

"It's like… it's like I'm being perpetually told to duck or look out but nothing's coming. And I know nothing's coming and I know it– I mean he's not coming back but it's just… I'm tired of ducking."

"So you're afraid that this person who hurt you will come back?"

"It's not that he's coming back, I know he's never coming back and that he can't hurt me–" Physically. Shut up. "–it's the anticipation of nothing. How my instincts are now set to constantly watching my back for a threat that doesn't exist."

"I see. Do you think this paranoia has something to do with trust? Are you afraid that someone else will hurt you the same way? That someone close to you will betray you?"

Jeremy shakes his head. "I don't think so. I've always been able to trust my friends and family. Especially…" He trails off, glancing off to the side to hide his blush. Dr. Sherman picks up on it quickly, the corner of her mouth tilted up in an almost teasing smile.

"Especially?"

Jeremy shoots her a sheepish grin, a rarity during their sessions. Jeremy doesn't doubt that she knows what he's talking about, having gushed to Dr. Sherman during one of their first sessions when Jeremy was in a particularly good mood. "Nevermind."

Jeremy didn't have many good days. He had bad days and he had better days and even less commonly, okay days. He didn't have many good days but when he did, they always had one thing in common. Michael.

Michael was his rock, his stability, his sanity. Michael made everything okay when he couldn't be okay on his own, made the shadows that crawled behind the whites of his eyes retreat into the back of his mind and stay there until eventually the dregs of what remained of the SQUIP dragged itself back up using Jeremy's mental illness as crutches. A single touch made the whole world disappear until it was only them, floating along in a world that was theirs. Always together, happy together.

Jeremy found himself thinking back to a date only a few weeks ago. The sun that shone through the window of the cafe seemed so much brighter when Michael laughed, snorting into his milkshake like a dork as Jeremy ducked his head to hide a bashful smile, scrapping his fork against the plate littered with the last crumbs of his sponge cake.

"You want the strawberry?" Jeremy speared the chocolate dipped fruit with his fork, presenting it to Michael like a prize. "I know they're your favourite."

Michael smiled and shook his head, resting his chin on his hand as he leaned against the table, silently admiring his boyfriend. "Nah, you have it. I'm good."

Jeremy shrugged and popped the treat into his mouth, humming softly as the flavour hit his tongue. "Your loss."

"You're beautiful." A breathless whisper, low and quiet like a secret Michael didn't intend for him to hear.

Jeremy heard it anyway and blushed violently, immediately averting his eyes and covering his mouth in embarrassment. "Stop it. I'm not."

"Yes you are~ The prettiest boy~," he heard Michael sing-song from across the table. His face only got redder and Michael giggled, grabbing his free hand and rubbing circles into his skin. Jeremy glanced over at the other boy and took in Michael's wide smile, his dimples, his bright, bright eyes, and resigned. In a spontaneous romantic gesture, he brought Michael's hand up to his face and nuzzled it quietly, murmuring _I love you_ against the warm skin of the palm pressed against his lips.

Michael looked like he was about to go into cardiac arrest. "Oh my– Jesus Christ– you can't just do shit like that!"

"You started it, Micah-Mi. Take responsibility for your actions."

"Cease this," Michael whined playfully, flipping his hood up and hunching over the table as if he'd been mortally wounded, cradling their joined hands to his chest. Jeremy's chest feels warm and colours seep through the edges of his vision, making everything brighter. Warmer. Better. All because of him.

As far as Jeremy was concerned, Michael was a miracle. A beautiful, divine being that graced the whole world with his presence yet somehow seemed to like Jeremy the most. Jeremy loved him with everything he had, he really did. Michael was everything to him, he'd do anything to make the other boy happy. Which made his issue with intimacy all the more despicable to him.

Because the SQUIP couldn't just torture him (he admits it now, it was torture. It didn't make it any less difficult to think about, any less painful). That'd make it too easy. No, it forced a lot of things on and took a lot of things away from Jeremy, and the fact that it wasn't entirely his fault (as Michael continuously reminds him) did nothing to stop the waves of disgust for himself flooding his senses until his lungs filled and he was drowning.

There were things he told Michael and there were things he kept to himself. His fears about the SQUIP, his feelings about therapy, his worries about his future, all of it Michael knew and tried his best to help him through. But his aversion to sexual intimacy, or rather, the reason for his aversion passes unseen by everyone in Jeremy's life and he intends it to stay that way.

It wasn't his fault, and it wasn't her fault either, he knows this and he has no quells against her. He loved her a lot, she was a great friend. She did a lot to make sure she apologised correctly and spent a lot of time making sure he was alright. She was a good person underneath it all.

But the memory of lips against his, hands sliding down his back, the taste of cheap alcohol that burned his tongue, how his pleads to _stop please stop he didn't want this not like this please please make it stop_ were ignored by the SQUIP in favour of forcing his body further into the embrace, shackling his legs so that he couldn't move. Couldn't escape. Trapped him.

It sent something hot and slimy curling in his chest, pressing down on his lungs and coiling unpleasantly until he felt like throwing up at the mere thought of getting that close to someone again.

It wasn't just that either.

Even the mere thought of touching himself sent an uncomfortable shock up his spine and down his arm, buzzing at his fingertips that brushed dangerously close to the hem of his jeans before snapping away in conditioned fear. He felt a little silly about being upset that he lost the ability to beat his meat with peace of mind but in some weird way, sex was a part of his identity. Being hypersexual, Jeremy was used to the usual routine that he had in place to help him get through the day as comfortably as possible. Sure it was a little embarrassing (extremely embarrassing, practically mortifying, he was still in shock about the Phone Incident to this very day. Jeremy prays to God every morning, thanking him for Michael's inherently inattentive nature) but it was a part of who he was and for the most part he was okay with it. Then it became just another thing the SQUIP took away from him. Another flaw, another imperfection, another mistake.

_You are a mistake_

Quiet.

Dr. Sherman clears her throat and Jeremy snaps back to attention, swallowing nervously when he watches her scribble something down. He takes a breath. "Sorry. What were you saying?"

Dr. Sherman flashes him a patient smile. "It's alright. I asked if you had any idea why you feel this paranoia if it isn't a lack of trust."

Jeremy chewed on his lip for a moment. "I honestly couldn't tell you. I trust my friends, I love my dad. I don't know why I'm so scared if I already know that i-he's not coming back."

"You're awfully certain that he can't come back."

Jeremy flinched. "Well… u-unless he can rise from the grave I don't think he'll be coming back to torment me anytime soon."

Dr. Sherman hummed, tapping her pen against the clipboard in thought. She seemed contemplative, an expression that always made Jeremy feel irrationally nervous. "It… do you think you might be experiencing some kind of ghost effect of some sort? With a condition such as yours and the extent of… everything you went through… it is possible that you could be subconsciously reliving it. We've talked about these episodes you've had with the repetition and obedience in past session, and I'm very proud of how far you've come since we've first talked, but perhaps they're the source of these issues with trust as of late."

The brief pause left after the short monologue felt like an encompassing jail cell. Jeremy clicked his tongue. "You really think I have trust issues, huh?"

"It's not entirely off the table, no."

Jeremy sighed and swung his feet, tilting his head back a little to watch the ceiling. A soft wind chime tune played from the desk behind Dr. Sherman and the woman turned to face the noise, plucking her phone up from her desk. "Looks like we're out of time, Jeremiah. How are you feeling now? Any closing thoughts?"

"She sells sea shells by the seashore, but who really is she?" Jeremy answered, his tone monotonous, absently picking at his cardigan sleeve. "Why does she sell shells by the sea, the main location where shells are abundant and can be obtained almost daily for free? Is it a lucrative market? Who is her target consumer?"

Dr. Sherman laughed airily, and Jeremy allows a small, sheepish chuckle before stretching up out of his chair and making his way to the door. "I'll see you next week, Jeremiah," Dr. Sherman called kindly as he walks out of her office. Jeremy offers her a small wave as he exits feeling exactly the same as how he went in. Bored, confused and, if he were pushing it, a little hungry. He wasn't completely sure that this was helping him in any way but it did feel good to talk to someone about this stuff that wasn't Michael or his dad, even if he did feel a little guilty about how much it was costing them. Nevertheless, his dad said it was no problem, that he'd do anything to make sure he was getting proper help. Jeremy loved him for that.

Michael was parked in his usual spot, the last few bars of Pour Some Sugar On Me booming from his speakers as Michael banged on the steering wheel in time to the beat, swaying enthusiastically in his seat. He looked up as Jeremy slid into the passenger seat, grinning when Jeremy slapped his knees to the last few guitar riffs. Michael reached over the console to lower the volume as the playlist switched over to a new song. The synth opening to Time After Time plays softly in the background as Michael leans over for a kiss, meeting Jeremy in the middle. It felt like coming come, a beacon of comfort in an otherwise reasonably stressful day. Jeremy breathes a sigh, relaxing into Michael and letting the scent of pine air freshener and stale weed to wash over him before pulling away. The kiss was short, a greeting more than anything, but it took Jeremy's breath away regardless. And judging by Michael's expression and heaving chest, the feeling was mutual.

"Hey," Michael murmurs over Cyndi Lauper's cooing. "Rough day?"

"Like sandpaper," Jeremy admits softly, pressing the heel of his palm to his forehead where the incessant buzz signalled the inevitable return of his favourite melodramatic robot ghost. "Gonna need my pills and maybe a bit of Red soon but I'll be fine."

Something shifted in Michael's eyes but it was gone before Jeremy could make out what it was, replaced by Michael's usual warmth and reassuring support. "Of course. Let's get you home. I'll look after you."

Jeremy frowned but said nothing. Ever since he started therapy Michael had this thing about taking care of him. It was sweet at first but after a while, Jeremy felt more like he was being babied by him. Michael was breaking his back trying to make everything comfortable for Jeremy, and while Jeremy appreciated this he also knew how to take care of himself (it was a stretch. A stretch about the length of fucking Russia seeing as Jeremy's definition of "taking care of himself" included ignoring the problems in favour of sitting in his room in his underwear watching Buzzfeed Unsolved while eating cereal straight out of the box but hey, it seemed to work okay). Michael always insisted on making sure Jeremy was looked after, putting him first above everything else. It irked him, bothered by how little Michael seemed to trust him with his own emotions, but Jeremy loved him. Michael made a lot of things better, made living better, and taking care of Jeremy seemed to make Michael feel better as well. So Jeremy doesn't say anything and let Michael take care of him, let him wrap him so tightly in his security blanket that he can barely breathe.

But today Jeremy felt off. While he usually wouldn't mind the babying too much, today it just felt like another thing that classed him as a freak. The apparent inability to do fucking anything, constantly needing his boyfriend or his father or any fucking one to do stuff for him. It turned in his chest like a storm, ragging violently with no knowledge on when it would stop, if it would ever stop.

He's silent on the ride home. He's silent as Michael ushers him through the door and into the kitchen. He's silent as Michael works on making him tea, a special blend that always helps Jeremy feel calm and safe. Jeremy didn't feel calm and safe. The odd feeling from earlier had grown in his silence, like a cancer spreading through his bloodstream. All at once he felt frustrated and confused and anxious and scared and tense and so, so _angry_.

He felt volatile.

"What's your deal?" It exploded out of him, unexpectedly, as he watched Michael flit and fret over every little thing. It drove him crazy. He didn't know why.

Michael startled, scrambling to keep the mugs he'd set on the counter from tumbling to the floor. "What?"

"You're acting weird."

Michael froze, swallowing hard. He set the pot down, pushing the mugs away from the edge of the counter absently. "I don't know what you mean. Where's this coming from?"

Jeremy scoffed. "Don't bullshit me, Mell. You're being weird. What's going on?"

"What, I can't be affectionate towards my boyfriend after he's just come back from therapy?"

"You're babying me. How many times do I have to tell you–"

Michael bristled. "I'm just worried, Jeremy. You've obviously had a rough day and you won't fucking talk to me about what's been bothering you–"

"Nothing's bothering me!"

"Now _you're_ bullshitting me! We agreed, no secrets, no bottling it up!"

"I'm not bottling anything up! God! Can't I have some fucking privacy?"

Michael heaved a sigh, long and harrowing and full of impatience that tapered off into a loud, frustrated groan. Jeremy forced himself not to flinch. "I'm just looking out for you, Jeremy. That's all I'm doing."

"You. Are. Babying. Me," Jeremy sliced through, getting into Michael's space and punctuating each word with an erratic hand movement. "I'm sick of it. I'm not glass. I can handle the fucking SQUIP, I know what I'm doing."

"You don't _have_ to handle it on your own! I'm here to help you but you're not letting me help!"

"Newsflash, Michael! That thing was in my head for _months_ , I've _been_ handling it! And this isn't helping! I appreciate the effort and I love you for it but holy fuck I need some fucking room to breathe every once in a while! I can handle it!"

"Oh yeah, it sure did look like you could handle it before."

Michael's voice was laced with poison and Jeremy's veins burned. "Don't you start, Michael Mell. Don't you _dare_ fucking start."

"I'm just saying! It was driving you fucking crazy, everyone could see it! You can't handle it on your own! You'll fucking fall apart! And you never tell me what's bothering you until it's almost too late so how am I supposed to trust you on your own?! If I or you dad or the Squad were helping you you'd be sitting around uselessly just letting the fucking ghost of the SQUIP control your whole life!"

Jeremy's blood ran ice cold in an instant. He felt sick. The raw anger and despair burned in him, raged so hot he felt like he was dying. Michael didn't trust him. Michael thought he was useless. Michael needs to— "Get out."

Michael blinked, seemingly realising the implications behind his words, and back-pedalled. "Wait, Jeremy, no, that wasn't what I meant."

"Then what did you mean, Michael? Go on, what could you have possibly meant by that?!"

"I'm sorry. It just came out! Of course I trust you and of course, you're not useless, I just meant–"

He couldn't do it. "Save it. Just get out."

"Jeremy–!"

_"I SAID GET OUT!"_

The air grew heavy as silence blanketed the room, only broken periodically by Jeremy's angry panting. He still refused to look at Michael, keeping his gaze locked on the floor and his arms wound around his torso like protective armour, unshed tears burning red hot in his eyes. He heard Michael take a deep breath and steeled himself for more shouting. What he got was so much worse.

"Fine."

The words ripped through Jeremy's body, his soul, tearing at his throat and stealing his oxygen. His heart simultaneously squeezed so tight it felt like it was going to explode and plummeted to his stomach like a stone dropped from the top of the Empire State Building. Something clawed at his throat, a dry, hot pain that clasped his oesophagus in a titanium grip that seemed to tighten with each force of air he sucked painfully in and out and in and out and _inandoutandinandoutandinandout_

"Fine," Jeremy ground out, his breath heaving as he tried to swallow it down as to not give Michael the satisfaction of getting upset.

"Fine," Michael repeats again, stomping away from Jeremy to snatch his backpack from the kitchen table. "Text me when you need me again." The words were reassuring but the tone was somewhat condescending. Jeremy bristled, picking up on it immediately.

"Fuck off," Jeremy hissed, turning away from Michael. He hears him sigh and shuffle out of the room, mumbling something that sounds like an angry and defeated but not ingenuine _I love you_. Jeremy says nothing and Michael leaves without waiting for a reply.

Jeremy listened to Michael's car screech out of his driveway and down the street, away from him. The resulting silence hammers against his eardrums and weighs down like a dark cloud against his rib cage, pressing against his chest as if to suffocate him in the same way the thought Michael was.

He took a deep breath, held it for a while, and then he screamed.

Later, Jeremy would be ashamed and embarrassed about how he acted but at the moment he didn't fucking care. Jeremy screamed and screamed and screamed, kicked over a chair and kept kicking until he heard the wood crack, raking his fingers through his hair and pulled until his scalp burned, dragging random objects off the counter surface until they cluttered and crashed to the floor. He screamed and cursed and kicked and swiped at the empty air until his throat almost gave out and he collapsed, reduced to a hysterical sobbing mess sprawled across his kitchen floor surrounded by the rubble of his blind rage.

What was wrong with him? He usually wasn't so angry, what set him off? He'd felt fine earlier, albeit a little strange. Was it the session? The stress? The SQUIP? Probably the SQUIP. It was always the fucking SQUIP, so determined to help him ruin his own fucking life.

He knew Michael was right. He couldn't handle the SQUIP on his own, it had too strong of an influence on him. He was just so tired, so scared. He let it fester in him instead of telling someone about it, let it explode at the smallest annoyance that set it off. He took it all out on Michael and drove him away. He needed him and he drove him away.

They were a team. He couldn't do it without him.

_Do you see now, Jeremy? He was always going to leave you_

Jeremy doesn't even bother to look up, furiously rubbing his tears away with the sleeve of his cardigan. "You're not real. Go away."

_I'm not going anywhere. I'm a part of you now, as much as I abhor to admit it_

"Fuck off. I'm not in the mood."

_I can see that_

The SQUIP drones on, bored with a hint of retched, undisguised disgust. It makes Jeremy's skin crawl, a sick feeling curling in his stomach. He felt like vomiting.

_I implore you not to encourage such a disgusting action to take place in my presence_

Jeremy almost felt like forcing himself to vomit just to spite it. He couldn't find the strength to, much too exhausted to deal with the SQUIP's bullshit. He leans his head back against the cupboards under the sink, giving up on his tears and opting to let them fall freely down his face with little abandon. He could almost feel the SQUIP sneer.

_You're disgusting, Jeremy. Utterly repulsive._

Jeremy doesn't need to say anything. The SQUIP already knows that Jeremy agrees.

 _And so selfish_ , the SQUIP almost coos, sounding more and more real by the second. _No wonder poor Michael left. And good riddance too. He was useless to begin with_

"Leave him out of this," Jeremy hissed, finally looking up and locking eyes with the shadow in the corner that his mind forced himself to perceive as the SQUIP's lanky, snake-like form.

 _Aww, you really do love him, don't you_ , the SQUIP taunts, its voice echoing in his ears, rattling in his mind. Surrounding him. _Too bad your precious little Mikey finally realised the dead weight dragging him down and dropped you the second you started going crazy_

"Shut up."

_It really is sad. Of course, I knew all along that he was going to leave you. It was simply delaying the inevitable_

"Shut. Up."

_Please, Jeremiah. Who would ever want you? Who would even pretend to tolerate you long enough to stay with you? Who would ever in a million years want damaged goods_

"Shut up!" Jeremy exploded, leaping up and glaring at the shadow in his kitchen in his mind. "Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up!"

_…You want me to shut up?_

The SQUIP sounds dangerous, contempt prickling under his skin, electricity shooting through his voice and into Jeremy's skull. Jeremy's breath runs short. The weight grew heavier and heavier, a foreboding darkness that surfaced from a place Jeremy didn't like to think about. It was so quiet that it was loud, so cold that it burned. A familiar feeling. Jeremy felt like he was drowning.

Then his mind exploded.

_T H E N  S H U T  M E  U P_

_You know what to do_

_Go_

_Shut me up_

_GO ON JEREMY SHUT ME UP_

_Can you even do it?_

_You're so weak, so useless_

_You wouldn't dare_

_Pitiful_

_Awful_

_Terrible_

_A waste of space and air_

_Tick tock, hurry it up_

_You know what to do now_

_Go_

_Go_

_Go_

_Go_

_GO_

_GO_

_GO_

_Jeremiah Heere!_

_SHUT_

_ ME _

_ **UP** _

Jeremy takes a sharp breath as he fumbles through his bag for his medicine bottle. Gripping the plastic cylinder in a white-knuckled grasp, he shakes a single pill into his palm and pauses, shaking out a second one to join the first after a moment of contemplation. He'd shut it up alright. He'd shut it up for good and the bastard would stay quiet forever. He looks at the pills in his hands, at the bottle on the counter, at the shadow that is now just more of a shadow and less like a looming figure.

The pills go down like bricks and his fingers feel like concrete as they reach for the bottle again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so sorry i love you


	7. Break Part 2: A Short Interlude by Joseph Heere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy was his whole world. How was he supposed to live if his world didn't want to anymore?
> 
> (Or _Joseph Heere reminises on his way home and his day goes from regular to horrifying in the span of a breath_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is short and bad but Mr. Heere is such an important character and I felt like I needed to try and illustrate how he would try to do better following the events that almost destroyed his son
> 
> this hurt me a lot to write. I promise the next one will be significantly happier
> 
> ((The end notes have some important info regarding the release of the next chapter pls read them thx))

Joseph was exhausted.

It was an exceptionally busy day at the office with stacks upon stacks of paperwork to be filled out with no signs of even slowing down. There were so many numbers to call, so many meetings to arrange, Joseph was starting to question why he became a lawyer to begin with. The job paid quite well but it sure wasn't exciting, apart from the occasional courtroom fit or interesting client. Just a lot of calls and a lot of negotiating and paperwork, paperwork, paperwork. Joseph sighed and slapped another completed form onto the pile on his left before turning to his uncompleted stack. It was significantly smaller than it was that morning but it still drained him of all energy by merely looking at it. Joseph itched to slip out of the office and back to the comfort of his own home but refrained. He needed to make an effort, if not for himself then for Jeremy.

God, Jeremy.

Joseph almost didn't believe Jeremy when he told him about the past few months. He didn't want to believe him. Jeremy had been suffering for months and months and it'd all been happening right under his nose. Joseph had been so busy wading waist deep in his own pain and sorrow that he didn't even notice his child was drowning only a few feet away. He was disgusted with himself. Jeremy was all he had left. They needed each other. He couldn't let that happen again. That night Joseph held his son in his arms, tightly as if he was afraid that he'd never be able to again, and vowed to the heavens that he'd do better. For Jeremy and himself.

They had been doing better as of late. Jeremy was seeing someone about his… troubles. He had protested, insisting that he was fine, but the sound of his muffled screams as he struggled with nightmares and night terrors haunted Joseph every single day and he couldn't stand by and let it continue. So he was taken to a therapist and they had diagnosed him within a month. PTSD, they had said. Mild paranoia, they had said. Joseph will never forget the look of pure distraught that plagued Jeremy's face but it was to be expected. You don't come back from a trauma that bad without repercussions, and with the extent of Jeremy's… time with the squip, coupled with his depression and anxiety, it really was a wonder that he'd held on for as long as he did. Joseph would forever be amazed at Jeremy's strength, any lesser man would have given up where Jeremy had fought to fix his mistake. He couldn't be prouder.

That is to say, Jeremy still needed help. Joseph was more than happy to be there for him, pay for his therapist, the pills, anything. Whatever he needed to do to help his son heal and be more comfortable he'd do in a heartbeat. Jeremy meant the world to him and he deserved the best help and the most support he could give him. His only regret is the long hours he had to work, only because it meant less time spent with his son.

The two had devised a system. Every Thursdays and Fridays Joseph would get off work a little early so the two of them could cook dinner together. It became something that the two of them could enjoy and it brought them closer together as a result. Conversations by the oven, a heart to heart next to the fridge, jokes in between slices, playful shoves and banter at the stove. They'd broken so many kitchen safety rules they had lost count and Jeremy had yelled _"WHERE'S THE LAMB SAUCE"_ in an aggressive British accent so many times that it gradually became a custom in their bi-weekly cooking escapades. Joseph looked forward to those days.

A quick glance at his watch decided that it was just about time get going. Packing up his things, Joseph raised his arms over his head and stretched, wincing a little at the sound series of pops and cracks from his back stiff from sitting all day.

David from across the hall poked his head out from his own office as Joseph was locking his door, greeting him with a shy grin. "Heading out now, Joe?"

Joseph answered him with a chuckle, slipping his keys into his suit pocket. "Yeah. It's Thursday. Jeremy should be coming home right about now and I promised him we could make homemade pizza. And if there anything I've learnt over the past few years is that you never get between Jeremy Heere and a good pizza."

David laughed along with him. "It's good that you're spending so much time with him."

"Yeah," Joseph responded with a wistful smile. "It is. He's a good kid."

"He is. Hey, I've been meaning to ask, my husband recently got some of his paintings into a gallery and we're inviting a few friends to come to the showing this Saturday. Would you be interested? You can bring Jeremy."

"We'd love to. Tell Jack congratulations for me."

"Will do. Drive safe. Say hello to Jeremy for me."

Joseph was smiling as he got into his car. Jeremy would pretend to complain but Joseph knew that he loved galleries. Something about the atmosphere, the lights, the stillness in the air, calmed him down. It's was a serene stability in his otherwise hectic world. Joseph loved watching Jeremy walk through a gallery, his eyes lighting up at every pretty painting and interesting sculpture he observed. He loved listening to Jeremy talk about what he learnt from the plaques that stood proudly next to each artwork, quietly enthusiastic in the same way he was about theatre and astronomy. Joseph was glad Jeremy felt comfortable enough to share his more quiet interests with him, interests other than video games and films and food and Michael.

Joseph struggled to suppress a laugh. Michael was the subject of a lot of conversation as of late. Jeremy wouldn't shut up about him. Michael's so cool and Michael's so sweet and Michael's so talented and Michael's so good. Jeremy's face would light up like a bonfire, warm and alive as he recounted all the things that made Michael amazing, listing off all the reasons he loved him in bullet points dotted with hearts. If it were anyone else, Joseph would have been sceptical. But it was Michael so it only made sense. That boy had been making heart eyes at his son for years, caring for Jeremy in ways that he probably thought were subtle. Joseph noticed all of it; the long looks, the lingering touches, the soft sighs, the fretting, the gifts, the sweet little gestures just to make him smile. The thing Joseph noticed the most was how content Michael was being his friend, that just being there for him was enough regardless of what he wanted. If that wasn't love than Joseph didn't know what was.

He could safely say that there was no one on the planet that was as devoted to Jeremy Heere than Michael Mell. And in turn, there was no one in the universe more in love with Michael Mell than Jeremy Heere.

The thing that truly reassured Joseph of their relationship was that he couldn't see an ounce of him and his wife, ex-wife, in the two boys. Where they were rushed, terse, quick bursts of colourful affection that had no real substance once the wallpaper started to peel away, Michael and Jeremy was a constant sunrise that was only getting brighter. Where he had loved his wife, ex-wife, while she only tolerated him, Michael and Jeremy adored one another. Where some days they felt like complete strangers and other days they couldn't exist without the other, Michael and Jeremy were still their own people, growing and changing but always coming back to re-evaluate and compromise and aid each other in their respective journeys. Where he and his _ex-wife_ ended, Michael and Jeremy were beginning.

Joseph shook his head as he pulled into his driveway. He was getting sappy in the car and he felt a little ridiculous but the feeling was overshadowed by the light of his giddiness. They were mending. Slowly, a little painfully, but healing. Joseph had unrelenting hope that one day both he and Jeremy would be alright.

They would. They had to be.

"I'm home," Joseph called, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it haphazardly onto the back of the couch. He frowned at the silence that greeted him but perked up when he heard a shuffling noise coming from the kitchen. Jeremy must have started without him again, always so eager when there was pizza involved. He chuckled as he set his briefcase down on the coffee table, heading over to the kitchen.

"Starting the show without even waiting for the main performer? Gosh, Jeremy, that's—"

The words caught in his throat and Joseph nearly choked on them as he crossed through the doorway that separated the living room from the kitchen and saw his son, shaking violently and paler than a sheet, clutching his medicine bottle so tightly that he was clearly cutting the blood flow to his fingers. His eyes were glazed over, staring blankly at nothing, and his whole body teetered dangerously back and forth as if he were struggling to hold himself up. Joseph's blood turned to ice in his veins and his reality crashed and burned. "Jeremy?"

Jeremy jolted and looked up, his eyes struggling to focus. His breath was coming in shallow and shaky, pulling in air so minutely his chest was barely moving at all. The pill bottle clattered from his fingers that had loosened in surprised. The noise rang hollow. Empty. "D-dad?" Jeremy croaked. And then he fell.

Joseph tore through the kitchen to catch him, nearly kicking the dining table aside to get to him. He cradled his son to his chest, kneeling over him on the floor and looking him over rapidly, looking for signs of hurt or damage. His mind was racing, his heart of near busting. "Jeremy! What happened? What have you done? Oh god, oh no. Jer, please."

"I wanted it to stop," Jeremy whimpered weakly, his eyes glossing over with unshed tears. "I took too many. I wanted it to stop."

"It's okay, it's okay. I'm here. I'm here now, son. I gotta—" Joseph fumbled with his phone, resting Jeremy's head on his lap as he brought shaky fingers up to dial 911. "Shh, shh, Jer. It's alright. Stay with me, son. Don't sleep."

"I'm sorry," Jeremy cried, half deliriously, and Joseph shot over immediately to comfort him, running his hands through his hair and cooing in between his frantic, tear-filled pleads for an ambulance. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to. I wanted it to stop."

Joseph's whole world shattered at his feet. "Shh, shh. Jer. It's okay. Keep your eyes open, don't go to sleep yet. Just listen to me, listen. You're going to be okay. I promise."

The next hour was a blur to Joseph. He watched his son spasm and shake as he cradled him gently and pressed his face to his hair, whispering reassurances and apologise for not getting there sooner, telling him how much he loved him. He watched the paramedics rush in and wheel his son into the ambulance, watched as one of them shifted over to make room for him when he gave them a pleading stare. He watched them burst through the doors of the hospital, rushing Jeremy into a room to save his life. He watched them approach him, watched himself give them information: who he was, who his son was, what had happened. All in a state of a shock so deep Joseph found himself unable to even cry. Joseph now sat in a waiting room chair, an untouched cup of water held loosely in his hand as he stared at nothing and tried to make sense of the past hour, tried to understand what could have led to this.

He couldn't possibly imagine how Jeremy felt. He couldn't possibly imagine it.

His hands shook as he cupped his phone in one hand, contemplating whether or not he should call. He reckoned he deserved to know, he deserved to be one of the first to see him. He always is. Joseph scrolled through his contacts absently until he found a name that he actually had yet to dial.

It picked up on the second ring. "Mr. Heere? What's wrong? Is it Jeremy? We fought earlier, I feel so bad about yelling. I tried to call but he's not picking up. Is everything okay? Is he okay? Is something wrong?" The questions shot out rapid fire, a covering spray to shield him from his real worries. Joseph could practically feel Michael's panic radiating from his voice, his tones and inflexions all pointing towards such an obvious deep concern that he felt terrible to be the bringer of news such as this.

The world weighed on him so heavily it threatened to snap his neck. He took a deep breath and sobbed into the receiver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter might not be up for a while. I usually take breaks in between chapters to sort out my headspace and make sure I'll be 100% okay to write more but I might take a longer break before the next one. The reason is because while I have been adding my own experiences in this fic in order to get the real reactions from these characters, the plans that I have for the next chapter will be bordering on personal with conversations ripped straight from the mouths of the people who have helped me thought my own darker thoughts. It might take me a bit to mentally prepare myself for it. Its not on hiatus and I'm not abandoning this fic, don't worry. In the few months I've been writing this it's become my baby. It's a story I need to tell, not just for the fandom but for myself. Please bare with me. Thank you guys for sticking around. I'll try not to take too long
> 
> <3


	8. Refrain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael hated hospitals. He hated how clinical they were, how everything seemed to fade into the stark backdrop, how everything smelt like chemicals and death. But the biggest reason he hated hospitals was because Jeremy was in one.
> 
> (Or _Michael waits for Jeremy and doesn't have to wait very long. The boys talk_ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man okay wow alright  
> this one was quite a write  
> I don't think I've ever felt so much pain and then so much relief writing a chapter of anything before  
> this was a wild ride
> 
> Oh hey also Happy Holidays!! New Years is coming!! That's exciting!! Hope y'all are having a good one!!
> 
> anyway, I worked super hard on this. Thank you to everyone who commented on the last chapter, your support means everything to me. I hope you like this one
> 
> *blows a kiss to my computer screen* Here's looking at you, kid

The first time Michael saw Jeremy in a hospital bed, they were 12 and Jeremy had just gotten his appendix removed. They'd been having a sleepover at the Heere's when the boy began to whinge and whine about a pain in his abdomen. They had brushed it off at first, Jeremy insisting that it would go away, but it had only worsened to the point where Jeremy began to cry and blackout. Mr. Heere rushed him to the hospital where they had both stayed overnight even when Mr. Heere insisted he could take Michael home, the sweater-clad boy swinging his leg impatiently to distract from the noise and worry that began to crawl under his skin. Jeremy ended up with a stitched up abdomen and a self-conscious grin, brightening when Michael raved on about his "cool battle scar". Mr. Heere took them out for ice cream later on. It wasn't so bad.

The second time Michael saw Jeremy in a hospital bed, they were 15 and Jeremy was recovering from a sudden allergic reaction. This time Michael was not present for the cause but he had been privy to a dramatic re-telling in which Jeremy spun a tale about him being horribly poisoned by an evil witch at the Applebee's he and his dad had eaten at the night before – with several corrections from Mr. Heere detailing that Jeremy was allergic to shellfish and somehow a bit of crab had gotten onto his plate. Applebee's had paid for their medical expenses and sent out many apologies. Mr. Heere waved them off, generously saying that it was an honest mistake and they hadn't even known about Jeremy's allergies prior to this incident. Jeremy came away with a set of EpiPens and a new humorous outlook on the phrase "the world is your oyster". They still made jokes about it to this day.

The third time Michael saw Jeremy in a hospital bed, they were 17 and Jeremy was freshly Squip-free. After he was admitted Jeremy stayed asleep for 2 days. 2 horrible, stressful days. Michael didn't know much about the medical implications of a supercomputer shutting down in your brain but he had overheard the doctors whispering about the strange chain of events that occurred in all the Squipped kids, Jeremy and Rich especially. The synapses in their brains going crazy, muscles twitching so badly they almost had to tie down their arms to stop them accidentally hurting themselves in their sleep, seizures that lasted from minutes to an hour. Most of them had chalked it up to either drugs, epilepsy, a strange epidemic that attacked the nervous system, simulating horrible pain, or possibly even all three, but could never quite pinpoint what it could be and why some were more affected than others. Michael didn't dare try telling them what it really was. Jeremy left the hospital with a bottle of medication he would never take, a father who was willing to try harder for his son, and a best friend who swore to the heavens and earth that he would never see Jeremy Heere in another hospital bed ever again.

Fat load of good that did.

Michael had made it to the hospital in record timing, a mere 30 minutes after he had gotten off the phone with Mr. Heere. The amount of speeding, red light runs and illegal traffic maneuvers he had done on his way there were astronomical but Michael couldn't care less. The world and their laws were unimportant, infinitesimal, laughable in comparison. The only thing that mattered was _Jeremy, Jeremy, JeremyJeremyJeremyJeremy_

Mr. Heere was waiting for him when he had practically kicked the doors in, sprinting into the waiting room with every breath heaved out of him a demand to see Jeremy. Michael almost fought the doctor who told them that Jeremy wasn't stable, that they couldn't see him yet, that they had to wait. Mr. Heere had to physically drag him back, taking a seat and letting Michael lean against him as he sobbed and bawled into the sleeves of his hoodie until he completely exhausted himself. Only one person butted in to tell him to shut up and Michael listened absently as Mr. Heere spit and growled at them, sharp angry words spilling from his lips like an overturned water bottle until they leave with a huff. Another person apologised for them and offers their condolences and a box of tissues. Michael took them silently, not looking at them, opting to keep his hood up and his head down. They seem to understand and they're left alone once more.

Mr. Heere looked horrible, shaking shoulders and a gaunt expression that led to tired, bloodshot eyes. There were still tear tracks staining his face. Michael offered him the tissue box. Mr. Heere only stared at them, a faraway look in his eyes.

"What could I have done, Michael?" he muttered after an age, the silence finally disturbed. Michael couldn't look at him. "I can't understand… what am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to make this better?"

An invisible hand wrapped itself around Michael's vocal chords and prevented the words from escaping his throat. He bit the inside of his cheek and tasted blood.

"I wish I could do something," Mr. Heere continued. Exhausted, pained, guilty. "To make him happy, or more comfortable. To take his pain away. I just don't know. I don't know." Mr. Heere laughed. It was a bitter, humourless laugh, so hollow and empty that it made Michael shudder. "I've failed him, haven't I? I've failed him again. I'm supposed to be his father and I _fucking failed him_."

Michael put his hand on Mr. Heere's shoulder. He didn't say anything, couldn't say anything, but he felt that Mr. Heere understood him.

It felt like years until a doctor called for "Heere" and both Michael and Mr. Heere leapt to their feet. "He's stable," the doctor relayed, looking at her clipboard grimly. "He's asleep but you can see him if you want."

Michael didn't understand why she even needed to ask as Mr. Heere nearly shoved her out of the way to get to Jeremy's room before she had even finished her sentence.

He couldn't breathe as he watched a nurse fuss over a sleeping Jeremy, making sure he was properly hooked up to all sorts of tubes and monitors and machines to track his life. Every sound was a warning bell, every cough was a scream, every rhythmic _beep… beep… beep_ of the heart monitor was death knoll sounding off in a distant alternate reality where Jeremy succeeds in—

He refused to finish that thought.

The nurse gave him a sympathetic look as he exits, leaving Michael and Mr. Heere alone in the room. Alone with Jeremy.

Michael felt bugs crawling under the skin of his arms.

Mr. Heere let out a shaky breath as he looked at Jeremy, so fragile and small under the creamy white blankets. He'd nearly tripped over his own feet getting to Jeremy's bedside, leaning over his son's bed to press his ear to his chest as if he were listening for a heartbeat. The redundancy of the action was not lost to Michael, as his eyes immediately flickered over to the heart monitor, but said nothing as Mr. Heere began to weep quietly. Michael moved then, dragging a chair over and forcing Mr. Heere to sit. He continued to cry, balling his hands in the blankets and pressing his face into Jeremy's arm. Michael felt his throat fill with cotton and he swallowed roughly to try and dislodge it.

"Am I a bad parent?" Mr. Heere asked, his tone wet and heavy.

The bugs under Michael's skin turned into cockroaches. "No," he croaked. "Of course not. You did everything you could. I'm… proud of you."

Mr. Heere gave a watery laugh, hollow but not disingenuous.

"What do I do? What do I _do_ , Michael?"

Michael took a shaky breath. He could feel himself coming undone at the seams again but held it for just a little bit longer. Mr. Heere had almost lost his only son. He could never imagine that kind of grief.

"A very wise man once told me that if the road gets bloody, just keep pushing through till the pain is gone," Michael said at last, squeezing Mr. Heere's shoulder in support. "He needs you just as much as you need him. Maybe now more than ever. So keep it together. He's in a bad place and… he needs you to keep wearing those pants."

Mr. Heere nodded, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands. He sniffed, holding his head in his palms for a moment before turning to Michael with a shaky smile, which Michael returns hesitantly. Mr. Heere patted Michael's arm gently. "You're a good kid, Michael. I'm glad he has you."

Michael swallowed, nodding curtly and shifting quietly out of the way when a doctor called Mr. Heere out into the hallway to talk. He glanced over at Jeremy, pale and still against the covers, and felt like weeping again. He took Jeremy's hand in his and kissed it lightly as a faux greeting, trying desperately to hold it together. "Hi. It's me. Um." He slid into the seat left by Mr. Heere. "I feel stupid doing this. Since you're… y'know... sleeping and all. Uh."

Michael closed his eyes, pressing Jeremy's limp hand to his lips again. "I'm sorry," he whispered into the skin. "This must've been so scary for you. I don't know what happened but I… feel like I need to apologise, y'know? Heh, you know me, dude. Always feeling guilty. Haha. Hmm." He swallowed thickly, a sigh breaking away from slightly parted lips as he took in Jeremy's form, memorising the curve of his lips, the slope of his nose, the stars on his skin. "You know I love you, right? You have to. And when you wake up I promise to tell you every single day how much you're loved. You are _so loved_ , Miah. I just think you forget sometimes. And that's okay! Everyone needs a reminder every once in a while. You just happen to forget a lot, I guess. That's okay. I'll tell you I love you on an hourly basis if that's what it takes. I'll do anything, Jeremy. Anything for you. Anything you ask. Say the word and I'll come running. Or- or leave. If you want." Michael's breath came out shaky at the thought. He pushed it down. "Like I said. Anything. Even if it means I'm no longer in the picture. Hehe. It scares me sometimes, how utterly gone I am for you. I'd climb the highest mountains and pluck the stars out from the sky if it'd make you happy.

"Sorry, I'm rambling. I had a point, I swear. The point is, I'm sorry. The fight we had last night was stupid and probably my fault. Just know I love you and I'm sorry and I wanna be here for you for as long as you'll have me. So yeah. Sleep well, my darling."

Michael released Jeremy's hand and sat back in the chair, heaving deep breaths like a dying man as he let a few tears slip before he furiously wiped them away with the sleeve of his hoodie. He felt exhausted, drained of every shred of energy he had just by trying to keep himself from crying any more than he had already. He wanted to curl up with Jeremy and sleep, try to forget why he was here and why Jeremy was so still beside him. He snaked his fingers under his glasses and rubbed his face tiredly, sniffing in misery.

There was a soft knock on the doorframe, startling Michael a little. Sluggishly, Michael heaved himself up from his seat to turn towards the door. It was probably Mr. Heere coming back from his chat with the doctor.

Michael didn't expect this. "Jake? Rich? What are you doing here?"

Rich's sombre expression shifted just a touch, throwing a thumb over his shoulder at Jake. "Jakey-boy has monthly checkups here. Y'know, for his legs. Physical therapy and all."

"Oh," Michael mumbled, staring down at his shoes.

Jake and Rich shared a look. "We talked to Mr. Heere down the hall. He told me to tell you he was going to take a walk, try and calm down," Jake began, cautiously. "He, ah, told us what happened. Are you okay?"

Michael turned that question around in his mind a little, pondering. "I guess," he sighed, nudging his glasses up to rub at his eyes still red raw from crying. "I just… I can't help but think that's it's my fault. I mean… we had a fight, me and Jeremy, the night he…… well. We both said some things. I can't get it out of my head. If his dad was just a few seconds too late the last words I'd ever hear from him would've been fuck off," he whimpered, his trembling voice breaking on the last couple of words. He felt Jake pull him into a hug, Rich rubbing his back as he struggled to keep himself from sobbing again.

"This isn't your fault, Michael. None of it is," Rich murmured comfortingly. "You can't blame yourself for it. I'm sure Jeremy doesn't blame you either. He'll tell you that himself when he wakes up."

"Stay strong, Michael. Jeremy loves you, more than he loves anything. You're his whole world. It's gonna be fine, you'll see."

Rich and Jake stayed to comfort him for a while. Michael was immensely grateful. They'd offered to tell the rest of the Squad what had happened to save Michael even more heartache but Michael declined, saying that when Jeremy woke up they'd text both the group chat. Jake seemed reluctant but Rich nodded in complete understanding and tugged on Jake's arm.

"You gonna be alright here?" Jake asked, rubbing his arms comfortingly. Michael nodded and Jake clapped him on the shoulder, a silent offer of support and reassurances. Michael had never appreciated his friends more.

Jake turned to leave but Rich reached up to grab his arm, stopping him before he left the room. "Wait for me in the car, yeah? I wanna talk to Michael for a bit." He was uncharacteristically quiet, shooting tiny glances between Michael's exhausted body slumped over Jeremy's sedated frame sprawled out on the bed. Jake looked up at Jeremy again and gave Rich an understanding nod, squeezing his shoulder in a comforting parting gesture as he left. Rich walked over to the end of Jeremy's bed, glancing at the chart momentarily. It was silent, save for the steady beeping of the heart monitor, and Michael squirmed in discomfort, waiting for Rich to say something.

Rich leaned against the bed rails looking down at Jeremy's sleeping form with something that looked like contemplation on his face before clearing his throat quietly. "Did you know I realised I was bi because I had a crush on Jeremy in freshman year?"

Michael turned to face Rich so fast he swore he heard his own neck snap. Rich chuckled softly at Michael's expression, reaching over to ruffle his hair fondly. Michael snorted in annoyance. "I'm not hot for him anymore. I'm not here to steal your man, calm your tits. Jer's more like a little brother to me now," Rich teased. He shook his head fondly and turned back to Jeremy, his eyes gentle. "But freshman Rich? Hoo boy. Freshman Rich couldn't keep his eyes off him. All lanky and awkward and cute. Always hovering around antisocial headphones kid like a loyal puppy. Absolutely adorable. Back then I thought his laugh could cure diseases. I'm sure you can relate." Michael could relate. _God_ , could he relate.

Rich sighed, his expression falling. "But freshman Rich was invisible to everyone. Even awkward, unpopular Jeremy Heere. No one's gonna notice a sad, scrawny, puny little runt like me. I was such a nobody I wasn't even fucking bullied. No one cared about Richard Goranski. I hated every minute of it. Contemplated ending it a few times but I never did. Too scared, I guess. I spent months like that, wallowing in self pity. Then I thought: if no one was gonna notice me, then I'll _make_ them notice me. So I got a deal behind a Payless… and made the worst mistake of my life."

Michael bit his lip. He knew Rich had been Squipped since freshman year but Rich never wanted to open up fully to the why factor. He gave everyone the standard story: was a loser, didn't wanna be a loser, popped a pill to make him a not-loser. Simple, standard, easy. If Michael had been in his place he would have done the same. Rich chuckled humorously, scratching lightly at a burn on his forearm, a permanent reminder of his trauma. "My Squip told me," Rich started, picking out his words slowly. "That in order for me to get where I wanted to be I had to give up some things. That included Jeremy. My choices in crushes were apparently… lacklustre. It's words, not mine. It devised a system. Instead of quietly admiring Jeremy from afar I would instead do whatever I could to make his life hell on earth. To sorta train me out of my feelings. If I refused to do so it promised me that things could get… much, much worse. So I did as I was told. Eventually, my feelings for him disappeared along with who I once was and by the time I was a sophomore I was so focused on popularity and whatever my Squip told me to do that I'd completely forgotten I was even bisexual in the first place."

Rich sighed again, rounding the bed to Jeremy's side and gently patting the sleeping boys head, moving some of his curls out of his face. "The Squip does stuff to ya, man," he said quietly, locking eyes with Michael. "Messes with your head. Tells you all kinds of sick stuff to get you to listen to it. I wasn't nearly strong or determined enough to fight mine off. Your boy's a miracle, Michael. Hold him close. Love him like I never could."

Michael swallowed, slightly intimidated by Rich's cutting gaze, and nodded firmly. Determined. "Rich, I have been in love with Jeremy for 8 years for my life. I'd be insane to let him go so easily."

Rich smiled widely. If Michael didn't know any better he'd say that Rich almost looked proud. "That's what I like to hear. I gotta get going. Jake'll be waiting for me. Take care, antisocial headphones kid."

"You too, tiny terror of Middleborough High."

Rich left with little fanfare, leaving Michael alone with Jeremy once more. Michael sighed, mulling over Rich's confession. In that moment, Michael felt closer to Rich than he ever had. He never would have expected it. His former bully, admitting that he had crushed on the same boy Michael was in love with? If someone were to tell him that a year ago he would have outright laughed in their face. Then again, if someone were to tell him about all the shit they've been through the past few months he wouldn't have believed them either. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Michael took Jeremy's limp hand in both his own and lied his head against the sheets. pressing his lips to the pale knuckles. He stayed like that, breathing quietly in time with Jeremy until he fell asleep.

 

 

Michael woke up sore and stiff but comfortable. He felt warm and safe in Jeremy's arms as a hand gently stroked through his hair, lulling him into a comfortable daze and letting him drift back into—

Wait.

Michael shot up, his back and neck protesting loudly at the sudden movement. His glasses were skewed on his face, pressing sharply against his cheek and he brought a hand up to fix them, bumping them back into place with a single practised movement.

Jeremy Heere sat up on his bed in all of his beautiful, sheepish glory. He looked tired, dark shadows painting the outlines of his eyes purple. His greasy hair lay limply around his gaunt face, accentuating the delicate curve of his cheekbones and the dip of his nose. The light from the window cast a soft glow against his petal pale skin, making him appear almost luminescent apart from his freckles which stood out like stars across his skin. The expression he wore was pensive, nervous, regretful. Crystal blue eyes were locked on his own even though every sign pointed towards him wanting to run.

Michael let out a shaky breath. "Jeremy," he whispered, the name coming out as an exhale, soft and trembling and broken. His hands shook, fingers still curled protectively around Jeremy's bony hand.

Jeremy's expression turned sadder and he looked away. Michael felt the whole world grow colder. "I'm sorry," he whimpered, sounding like he was on the verge of tears. Michael was right there with him. "Michael, I'm so sorry. For yelling the other night, for freaking out, for… for all of this. I don't know. I'm sorry." Jeremy tried to pry his hand out of Michael's grip but Michael held on. Jeremy choked on a sob and Michael's heart broke at the sound. "Michael. Michael, _please_."

Michael rose silently from his seat, leaned over and collapsed against Jeremy, wrapping his arms around him and cradling him tightly. He felt Jeremy stiffen under his embrace and let his tears leak freely from his eyes, burying his face in his shoulder and breathing in his scent. He smelt sharp, like cleaning chemicals and hospital room steriliser. It felt wrong. He should smell like the peppermint body spray he uses every day, the strawberry shampoo he stole from Christine, the honey he puts in his favourite tea, like the salty sweat ever present on his palms, like the rain that clings to his eyelashes, like the Oreos he always eats at Michael's, like home. Jeremy didn't smell like home anymore and Michael didn't realise that he was sobbing until Jeremy finally moved, wrapping his arms around Michael's trembling form comfortingly.

"Jeremy," Michael sobs, holding him tightly as if he were afraid he'd disappear. And in all honesty, he was. He was petrified. "Jeremy, Jeremy, Jeremy, _Jeremy_."

"Shhh," Jeremy hushed, running a soothing hand through Michael's hair. "Shhh, Micah-Mi. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I did this to you. Please don't cry, sweetheart. I'm sorry."

"Why?" Michael whimpered. Jeremy stiffened again. "Was it me, did I do something? I'm so sorry."

"No! God, no, Michael! How could you think—!" He cuts himself off, taking a shaky breath. "Michael, I love you so much. You're perfect, always so perfect. This was all me. The SQUIP, it… I just wanted it to go away. I regretted it almost immediately, I just… I don't know. I don't know. I don't expect you to forgive me. Just know it's not your fault. You didn't do anything wrong. It's me who's the fuck-up."

Michael moved back to face him, tear-stained and hiccuping, refusing to let go completely and still half-lying across the bed. He brought a hand up to Jeremy's cheek and sighed with relief when Jeremy leaned into it. "You're not a fuck-up. You're wonderful. And I'll always forgive you. Always, always. Just… why didn't you tell me? I could've helped you."

"That's the thing. You're always helping me, always there for me. You've sacrificed so much of your time, your energy, your sleep, just for me, and what the fuck do I do in return? Lash out, scream at you, have a breakdown and try to kill myself in a fit. You… you are so perfect and I adore you in every way, shape and form. But I'm nothing. I don't understand why you'd do so much for such a terrible person like me."

"Jeremy…"

"I-I just…"

" _Jeremy_."

Jeremy swallowed thickly, his breath shaky as he tried to hold himself together. "The fight was my fault. I let whatever was left of the Squip get to me. I almost left you thinking that I hated you. How could I ever think I hated you?" He turned away from Michael with a sniff, trying to subtly wipe his face with his shoulder. "I shouldn't get to have a happy ending. I don't deserve it. I don't even deserve to live."

Michael let out an involuntary gasping breath as if all the air from his lungs had been forcibly punched out of him. So many emotions ran through him in an instant, so fast it was hard for him to keep track. Sorrow and helplessness and agony and distress and fear but mostly anger. Anger at the SQUIP, at the thing that dared do this to his Jeremy. Anger at the world that left Jeremy in such a state. Anger at himself for not seeing it, for not helping, for not being there.

Jeremy managed to pry his hand out of Michael's now slackened grip. He turned his body away, hunching over to hide his trembling shoulders. "Just go, Michael. I'm so sorry for everything."

"No."

Jeremy tensed, glancing over his shoulder timidly. "W-what?"

"No. You listen to me, Jeremiah William Heere. You listen to me right now," Michael growled, grabbing Jeremy's face in both hands and turning it so that they locked eyes. His expression softened at Jeremy's sad, tired gaze and he swept his thumbs under his eyes gently. "You deserve to be happy and you most definitely deserve to live. I'd rather you let your problems off your chest whenever you like rather than sitting on it until it explodes. You don't have to pretend to be okay for our sakes. I care so much about you and you've done more for me than I'm able to express. You've made my life worth living and I don't think there's any way I could repay you for blessing me with your presence and for every second you've made better.

"You deserve the world because you are Jeremy Heere, the love of my life. Who cries whenever an animal dies in a movie, who habitually walks over the coffee table in your living room instead of around it, who screams parkour before jumping the 4 inches off my front porch, who has glow in the dark stars stuck on the back of his bedroom door. You're Jeremy Heere, who cares so much about everyone in his life, who reassures and listens to Jenna when she's feeling ignored, who buys Brooke frozen yogurt to cheer her up, who gave his last bottle of red to Rich because you were more worried about him. You're so kind and gentle and caring and lively and funny and beautiful and deserving of everything good in this world. You're wonderful, Jeremy, and I love you so much. I will do everything that it takes to help you love yourself."

Michael barely registered the look of pure distress on Jeremy's face as he began to sob, loud, ugly tears staining his face. He bundled the crying boy into his arms, cradling his head like a priceless museum artefact, delicate and impossibly gently lest it breaks. He pressed his face to the crease of his pale neck and pressed a kiss to the overheated skin, rubbing his back and whispering sweet reassurances to soothe him.

Jeremy seemed to cry for hours, muttering a mantra of apologies over and over again not unlike when he had first apologised to Michael all those months ago, shaking and stuttering. Michael didn't care – he didn't dare try to move away – his arms wrapped around him so tightly as if he were trying to shield him from the world, protect him. Michael wished he could. He wished he could protect Jeremy from the things that lurked in his mind like shadows made of tar. He wished he could snap his fingers and make his pain go away. Michael cursed everything in the universe, all the physics and logic and restrictions, that prevented him from doing so.

Jeremy cried and cried until he fell quiet, his sniffling fading out into soft, even breaths. Michael moved him gently, laying him back down on the bed to get a better look at him. He'd appear to be sleeping if Michael didn't know any better. He brushed away the tears still clinging to his eyelashes, tucked his curls behind his ear, leaned forward to press a kiss to his forehead then right between his eyebrows, down his nose and to his closed eyelids, peppered gently over both his flushed cheeks and finally his lips. His eyes fluttered open when Michael pulled back, the fear that swam in those sky eyes overpowered by adoration, a look that made Michael's heart squeeze. "I love you," Jeremy whispered, reverently, achingly. "I'm so in love with you. More than anything on this earth, I adore you. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"We'll work through this together. Just like we always do. I'll be here till the end." Michael placed his hand on the bed, palm up, fingers twitching. "It's an effed up world…"

"But it's a two player game," Jeremy finished with a smile that held a promise.

Thin fingers intertwined with his and Michael's universe was stable again.

They could do this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: I almost left it at Michael falling asleep and was gonna make Jeremy waking up a seperate chapter but my need for a conclusive chapter ending after all those prior cliffhangers I wrote was so strong I was overpowered I am WEAK for fluff and communication
> 
> Also, quick side note: when I was editing this Magic by Coldplay came on and gosh darn if that song isn't FITTING. I'm saying it now, if Vanilla Twilight by Owl City is Michael's pining song then Magic by Coldplay is Jeremy's. It just is. Give it a listen


	9. Outro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Good Things Must Come to An End, But Michael and Jeremy's Life is A Good Thing Beginning
> 
> (Or _Michael and Jeremy are Cool In Collage, and things are looking great for the rest of their lives because they deserve to be happy_ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *fingerguns*  
> i didn't know how else to end it. this felt right
> 
> this has been a journey. i really hope y'all liked it <3

> _"Jesus, where do I begin? Um… how about with the way you make my whole world brighten with a single smile."_

 

Michael woke up to sandy hair, sleepy sniffles, and the overwhelming thought that he was incredibly lucky – a usual morning for him. He buried his face into Jeremy's thick curls, breathing in his shampoo as he tightened his hold so that the smaller boys back pressed against his chest. He felt Jeremy stir and mumble something before turning in Michael's hold to face him. His eyes were blurry, his hair was sticking up, and a bit of drool escaped the corner of his mouth. He was beautiful.

"Hey," Michael whispered, using his thumb to wipe the saliva from his face.

Jeremy smiled shyly and pressed his forehead to the others, relaxed and content. "Hi."

Michael squinted at the analog clock across the room, a hopeless cause since he couldn't see shit. "It's Saturday, isn't it?" he asked, trying to remember yesterday's events so that he could decipher what day it was. Jeremy hummed noncommittally, wriggling around to bury his head into the crook of Michael's neck. Michael giggled, the trembles of his laughter jolting the boy on his chest gently. "Gonna need a verbal answer to that, pal."

"2 years being your boyfriend and you still call me friend names," Jeremy mumbled, grumpy but full of mirth.

Michael smirked. "Buddy, chum, pal, friend, fella, amigo–"

Jeremy giggled, weakly batting his hands against Michael's bare chest. "Stooopp!"

"Brutha, dude, bro, homeslice, bread slice, dawg."

"God, I hate you! This is the worst!"

Jeremy's laugh was like a church bell on doomsday – salvation, sanctuary, safety. It filled Michael with warmth and life, abstract colours swirling in Michael's chest with little abandon. He felt like he could conquer the world, he felt like he could do anything. When he was with Jeremy he could do anything.

 

> _"Or how about with how the universe seems to breathe with you. How the planets dance in time to your steps, how the stars gleam and flicker in time to your laugh."_

 

Michael slid out of bed, chuckling at Jeremy's muffled protests and slippery attempts to keep him anchored in his arms. He ruffled his hair, plucking his glasses from the bedside table with a yawn. He scratched his stomach, adjusting his boxers as he shuffled into the bathroom to brush his teeth and throw some water on his face.

Jeremy squeaked a little as he sat up clumsily, his entire frame bathed in the golden morning light seeping through the window making him look positively resplendent. Michael allowed himself a moment to admire him before slipping into the bathroom completely.

 

> _"You conduct the world around you, with magic in your eyes and the cosmos through the strands of your hair. I can never get enough of you."_

 

Michael was sitting at their breakfast bar eating cheerios when Jeremy finally emerged, tired-eyed and sniffling. He rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his palm, missing the look of concern Michael threw his way.

"Everything okay?"

Jeremy shrugged, opening the pantry slowly and quietly, almost contemplative. Michael held his breath. Finally, after an age, Jeremy easily plucked a box from the middle shelf. Relief washed over Michael like the unclogging of a faucet. He was eating this morning, a good sign.

"Did you take your medication already, darling?"

"I will. I wanna eat first. Pills feel weird on an empty stomach."

"That's fair. Whatever's comfortable. Tell me if anything feels off?"

"Of course, baby."

Jeremy poured himself a coffee from the pot Michael had prepared earlier and slid a couple pop tarts into the toaster. Michael raised an eyebrow at him. Jeremy shrugged again and cheekily stole a mouthful of Cheerios from the spoon that had been predestined for Michael's own mouth.

"Must you?"

Jeremy grinned, the fatigued strain that lingered at the edges of his eyes not fully disappearing but lessening. "You love me."

Michael sighed. "I really do," he said, meaning every syllable.

 

> _"U-um… I can't remember a time where I didn't love you. Sometimes I think I was born to love you. Sometimes I think you were made for me. We were made for each other."_

 

Saturday morning cartoons played vibrantly from the television as Jeremy dozed in and out of sleep, cuddled up against the mountains of pillows on their beat up but immensely comfy couch they got off eBay. Michael sat next to him, his legs sprawled across Jeremy's lap. Long, graceful fingers gently massaged his calves, kneading the soft, squishy skin – content.

Saturdays were sacred to the two. It was the only day where neither of them had class or work, where they were allowed to wake up late and quietly enjoy each other's company. Of course, every day of the week was just as nice, but Saturdays were sacred. Saturdays were only theirs.

"What's on the agenda today, Mikey?" Jeremy chirped gently from his pillow fort, twisting his body to face Michael.

"The Gay Agenda?" Michael answered innocently, snorting at his own joke.

Jeremy rolled his eyes and pinched Michael's thigh. "You're hilarious."

"And don't you forget it." Michael pushed up and leaned back, his spine curling over the top of the couch harshly as he stared at the kitchen, thinking. "Up for some shopping, babe?"

Jeremy yawned, squeaking a little as he did. Michael's heard it a million times and still, he has to stop himself from fawning. "Yeah. D'you want me to take inventory, make a list?"

"Please," Michael responded, leaning his head on Jeremy's shoulder. Jeremy instinctively rests his own head lightly over his. "You're so much better at it than me."

"That's because you're an idiot who gets distracted and ends up writing oranges three times."

"Fuck off, you need more vitamin C anyway."

Jeremy snickered, moving his hands to tickle Michael's feet vindictively. Michael shrieked and scurried away, nearly elbowing Jeremy in the face when he dove over to return the favour, deft hands scurrying towards his ribs. Jeremy bat him in the face with a pillow.

They don't make a move to get ready for at least another hour.

 

> _"You're the light of my life, you're – fuck – you're everything. We've been through thick and thin, always there for each other."_

 

"Mikey, I need them!"

"That's what you said about the crabapples and guess what? You didn't eat a single one."

"But Michael!" Jeremy leans in almost secretively as if they weren't standing in the middle of the vegetable aisle arguing over a bag of carrots. "They're _baby carrots_!"

Michael raised an eyebrow. "And?"

Jeremy bounced on his heels, a playful frown on his face. "They're _babies_!"

"You can't keep buying things just because they're cute, Jerm. We're broke college kids."

Jeremy whined, not caring about the looks he was getting. Michael stood his ground. He would not be swayed this time. He may have faltered at the mini cupcakes, the heart-shaped cookies, the water fountain tap attachment shaped like a whale, the pink lemonade, the crabapples. He would not falter again for a fucking bag of tiny carrots.

"Micah~," Jeremy murmured, peeking up at him from under his eyelashes. "…Please?"

Michael all but threw the baby carrots into the cart.

 

> _"I honestly can't imagine life without you. I don't think I ever have. I don't think I'll ever want to."_

 

"I wanna love you! And treat you right!"

Bob Marley came on the radio. This almost never happened. Michael had no choice.

"I wanna love you! Every day and every night!"

Jeremy was laughing hysterically, covering his flushed face with his hands and leaning against the passenger door for support. Now, Michael was an okay singer – he had a good set of pipes and could carry quite a tune when he really tried – but there was no greater joy than making Jeremy Heere almost piss himself laughing by singing loudly, horribly, monstrously off-key.

Michael screeched the lyrics, radio cranked up and windows wound down as they chugged steadily through traffic without a care in the world. Michael's voice broke on the next verse, nearly shattered with the next line. Jeremy looked just about ready to die. Michael giggled and coughed, rubbing his throat tenderly with one hand as they stopped at a red traffic light.

"Is this love, is this love, is this love, is this love that I'm feelin'?"

Michael blinked. Jeremy's voice rang sweet – shy and full of truth in juxtaposition to Bob Marley's boisterous proclamations. Jeremy was curled in the passenger, pointedly not looking at Michael as sung with his head tilted back and his eyes fluttered closed. Light. Whimsical. Beautiful.

"If this love, is this love, is this love, is this love that I'm feelin'?"

Michael let out a shaky breath. Jeremy opened his eyes and smiled shyly at Michael, his cheeks flaming pink. Michael almost missed the green light, he had been so transfixed.

They held hands over the console for the rest of the trip.

 

> _"And living with you, spending almost my whole life with you… it's indescribable. It's incredible. You're incredible."_

 

Michael flinched when Jeremy flicked another tiny bit of tomato at him. He glared at his boyfriend who feigned innocence, turning back to his chopping with the smooth grace of a newborn deer, fumbling with his knife and almost slicing his own thumb off. Michael was, quite obviously, not fooled in the slightest.

"Y'know, in most domestic kitchen scenes the lover gently wraps their arms around the waist of the one cooking."

"This ain't no rom-com, dear," Jeremy exclaimed before he flicked a bigger piece of tomato at him. It landed right on his cheek with a splat. Michael fought to suppress a smile.

"What happened to the romance in this relationship?"

"Dead and gone. You couldn't give me what I needed, Michael. I'm having an affair with Ambrosia."

Michael gasped dramatically, whirling around to point a shaking finger at the little basil plant that sat near the sink, growing quietly and minding its own business. "You've betrayed me! You've been seeing my husband while I was off fighting in the war!"

"Such a long war," Jeremy crooned, laying a hand across his forehead. "I was so lonely. Ambrosia was there when I needed her."

"How could you do this to me? To our children?" Michael made a sweeping gesture, motioning towards the multiple Kirby plushies sitting side by side on the shelf that held all their games and consoles.

Jeremy dipped back, balling his hands lightly in the soft fabric of Michael's shirt. "Oh no, the children! How could I have been so foolish! Take me back, Michael Mell! I've realised the error in my ways!"

Michael giggled and wrapped his arms around Jeremy's waist, bringing him closer until their noses touched. "Perhaps we may find a compromise," Michael purred, nuzzling their noses together. "So long as you stay as mine and mine alone I will give you whatever it is you so desire."

Jeremy shivered, biting back a nervous smile. "Then y-you wouldn't mind… coming to bed with me? Completely?"

That shocked Michael a little. "A-are you sure?" Because they were taking it slow, because Jeremy told him how trapped it made him feel, because Jeremy had told him why.

Jeremy took a deep breath – steadying, levelled. "Yes. I'm ready."

Michael searched his eyes for any sign of discomfort. All he found was determination and adoration. He let out a breath. "If you're sure. But later. And you have to tell me if you're uncomfortable. No holding it in just so I won't worry. We're using the stoplight system, okay? Just say the word and we can stop at any time." Michael fidgeted nervously, moving his hands up to caress Jeremy's cheeks. "I don't want you to feel trapped with me."

Jeremy's gaze softened, winding his long limbs around Michael in an encompassing hug. "I won't, Michael. I'm ready. I trust you, I love you."

"I love you too," Michael whispered, their lips a hairsbreadth away from touching.

Then Jeremy blinked and moved back a little, scrunching up his nose. "Something's burning—"

"OH FUCK!"

 

> _"I just… I want to be with you forever. Till the end of time and beyond that."_

 

Jeremy let out a frustrated groan, turning his head to press his face against the warm skin of Michaels' throat. He focused on the TV screen to see that he'd come a mere 5th place, being beaten out by a handful of kids who could probably play this game with their eyes closed. Michael laughed. "Way to be destroyed by a bunch of 5-year-olds, babe. You're losing your touch."

"Shut up," Jeremy groaned into his throat, sending a shudder through Michael's body. "No matter how good I am at Mario Kart there's always going to be a kid who's like 10 times better than me."

"You're not even that good at Mario Kart. I'm the circuit trophy toting one in this relationship."

Jeremy scoffed. "Verse me on Rainbow Road and we'll see who the trophy boyfriend is around here."

"Blow me, Heere."

"Gladly, Mell."

Michael batted at Jeremy's side playfully and Jeremy giggled, shifting in his lap to get away from him. Michael's heart doing that thing where it stopped in its tracks for several seconds before restarting at an alarming pace.

 

> _"There are no words in any language in the universe that can truly emphasise how much I adore you. But I hope these words can at least give you a general idea."_

 

"You're fucking terrible." The words came out of Michael's mouth before he could stop them. He swallowed hard, keeping the panic at bay. The two had spent countless hours in therapy, he'd comforted Jeremy during panic attacks, he'd been there for Jeremy just as Jeremy had been there for him. Michael had hope that Jeremy would one day be completely okay and this was just a stepping stone to complete recovery – they'd come a long way since junior year, since Jeremy's attempt, since everything. Nevertheless, he shot a quick prayer to the sky and unconsciously braced himself for Jeremy's answer.

But Jeremy had barely paused before settling back into Michaels lap to face him and said – challengingly and without hesitation, "I'm a fucking delight."

The quiet lasted mere seconds before Michael surged forward and kissed him hard, putting years worth of love and pride into the contact because he really did love him and he really was so proud of him. Jeremy kissed back with the same amount of vigour, pressing so close he could feel his heartbeat against his chest. Michaels' hands trailed under Jeremy's shirt to trace soothingly up and down the skin of his back and Jeremy hummed, pressing in harder. When they parted after a moment for air, Jeremy whispered _I love you_ against his lips and Michael could have actually died a happy man right then and there.

Then Jeremy lightly punched his shoulder and turned back to the TV, picking up his discarded controller. "Now shut the fuck up and cuddle me, I got some kids to destroy on Rainbow Road."

Michael laughed and wrapped his arms around the love of his life. He thought back to that little black box sitting in his bedside drawer. Thought about the ring inside of it. One day he'll have the balls to take it out of those drawers. One day he'll show it to Jeremy and hope that he'll say yes. One day.

 

> _"Jeremiah William Heere, would you do me the absolute honour of marrying me?"_

 

Maybe someday, maybe soon.

 

 

 

 

 

 

> _"God yes."_

 

  
\- The End -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *crying emoji*  
> this is it. i was conflicted on whether or not I wanted to end it like this or add another chapter before the ending but it felt weird to try and continue it. this was about as much my story about overcoming my chronic depression and suicidal thoughts as it was Jeremy's journey through post-SQUIP PTSD and it felt kind of wrong to try and force an extra chapter where I felt like it should end. And I did promise everyone a happy ending
> 
> Writing this for the past few months has been a blast. You guys are so amazing, every last one of you. Your comments and kudos means so much to me, I treasure every single one. Thank you all so much for coming with me on this trip, putting up with the wait times and for all your kind words. I'm so grateful for this experience
> 
> Thank you all again so so much and I'll see you guys in my next work!! Stay safe, be smart, I love you!!
> 
> Have a good one!!


End file.
